


Head Over Heels

by Chiyume



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: And a whole lotta dancin', Bucky Barnes-centric, Bucky just wants to wear all the pretty things let the man be pretty, Bucky loses a bet and joins Nat's dance class, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017, Crossdressing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, High Heels, M/M, Nat and the girls get it, Panty Kink, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Recovered Memories, Time appropriate trans-and homophobia, also don't forget the makeup and stockings oh lala, captainamericareversebb, dance family, rbb2017, recovering bucky, supportive friends are supportive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-20 14:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11337408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: When Bucky Barnes makes the fatal mistake of suggesting that Nat's dance class isn't worthy of the name 'exercise', Nat decides that he needs to be proven wrong. Bucky just as adamantly decides thatheneeds to prove he'sright.What starts off as a simple joke between friends, however, soon turn into so much more as Bucky begins to discover traits about himself that he never knew he possessed. Or maybe, he just forgot about them...?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) and inspired by an amazing piece of art made by the lovely [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) which will be revealed in the final chapter posted on July 4 ;)
> 
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3

 

 

Bucky, Steve, and Sam are all lounging on the couch in the Stark Tower’s common room when Natasha makes her entrance; dressed in sneakers, active-wear tights, and a loose grey tank top that shows off her hot-pink sports bra in all the fashionably correct ways. 

“Off to the gym?” Sam calls out to her from across the room, and Natasha stops with her gym bag casually slung over her left shoulder to look at him from the door to the elevators.

“Dance class,” she reports cheerfully, and Bucky snorts.

This, apparently, is an unwise thing to do, as Natasha immediately turns her eyes his way, narrowing them into an ominous squint. “Something funny, Barnes?” she asks sweetly, and Bucky, who albeit fully knowing that he’s just made a fatal mistake, decides to answer her with the truth. Which is his second mistake. And in less than fifteen seconds, no less.

“Well,” he starts diplomatically. “I mean, it’s just that you’re dressed as if you’re gonna spend the entire day at sports camp or something.”

_ “Well, _ ” Natasha retorts, with an audible ‘duh’ in her tone as she steps away from the elevator to approach them, “maybe that’s because I’m going to spend the next four hours  _ sweating,  _ and I’d prefer not to do that in jeans.”

“Sweating?” Bucky asks skeptically, and when Natasha gives him an arched eyebrow in return, he scoffs. “C’mon, dancing ain’t that rough. Me and Steve used to go do that for fun; hell, people  _ still  _ do that for fun.”

“You mean  _ you  _ used to have fun,” Steve cuts in sullenly. “I spent most of those times trying to merge with the wallpaper while not accidentally stomping someone to death.”

“You weighed ninety pounds, darling,” Bucky offers, “you couldn’t have bruised a fly even if you’d tried.”

“Geez, thanks,” Steve mumbles, but he still smiles when Bucky leans in and gives him a consoling kiss on the cheek, so Bucky knows that there are no hard feelings. Natasha ignores them, as she keeps her gaze intently fixed on Bucky when he leans back into his seat once more with a grin.

“This isn’t the same kind of dancing,” she assures him, but Bucky just rolls his eyes at her.

“Seriously, have you ever seen someone lindy hop?” he asks. “If that shit doesn’t work you into a sweat, no dance will.”

“You sound awfully sure about that,” Nat counters, and Bucky’s smile falls a little as he hears the sudden purr in her voice. He doesn’t let it deter him, however.

“That’s because I am,” he replies boldly. From the corner of his eye, he sees Steve and Sam exchange a quick, amused glance when Natasha folds her arms over her chest with a smirk.

“Perfect,” she says. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind putting that conviction to the test, would you?”

In his chair, Sam shapes his lips into a silent O of anticipation, but Bucky doesn’t pay him any attention as he sits up tall to give Natasha a hesitant look.

“What do you mean?” he asks her warily, and Natasha gives the side of her gym bag an inviting pat.

“Come with me,” she challenges. “If dancing really is as simple as you say, then you shouldn’t even need to get changed first.”

She’s completely serious, Bucky can tell. The fact that she’s also still smiling at him makes him feel as if maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. 

“I don’t know if I can,” he therefore tries. “Sam and I were gonna—”

“Oh, we can do that another day,” Sam cuts him off with a disregarding wave of his hand. “It’s not that important. You go dance with the pretty ladies.” He says the last part with a smile that’s two-parts smug and three-parts evil, and Bucky responds to it with a glare that’s all-parts pure and unabashed malice.

“Yeah, Buck, go dance,” Steve suddenly chimes in from his end of the couch, and when Bucky whips his head around to stare at him, the bastard even has the audacity to  _ grin _ . 

“You can’t be serious,” Bucky decides, and Nat rolls her eyes as she slowly saunters around the couch to drape her arms around Bucky’s neck from over the backrest.

“C’mon, Barnes,” she coaxes while poking at his abs through his t-shirt. “You could use the cardio either way; you’ve been getting flabby lately.”

“Excuse you,” Bucky says while swatting her hand away from his contradictory flat stomach. “Sam and I go for runs every week.”

“Try every month,” Sam mutters under his breath, but once again, Bucky ignores him as he just as determinedly continues, “And I use the tower gym almost every day.”

“Which gains you muscle, but it hardly makes you graceful,” Nat points out, standing up again. “Admit it, you’re turning into a cube. No one likes a square, you know.”

“Hey, I may be a lot of things, but a geometric stereotype ain't one ‘em,” Bucky quips. “Besides, Steve likes me just the way I am, don’t you, babe?” 

“Of course,” Steve replies, and Bucky gives Nat a triumphant smile over the back of the couch.

“See?”

Natasha groans and walks back to stand in front of the coffee table once more, but as she hoists her bag higher onto her shoulder, she sends Bucky a final, evaluating glance. “Well, if you say so,” she says flatly. “Come to think of it, it’s probably for the better if you don't come.”

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” Bucky asks indignantly. Nat shrugs.

“Nothing,” she says. “I mean, it’s just that it'll most likely be too complicated for you to keep up with the rest of us anyway.”

“Too complicated?” Bucky echoes, his voice just as flat and void of emotions.

“Yeah,” Nat agrees. “It’s a very specific choreography. Very modern, not your style at all.”

“And what is _ my style _ then, if I may ask?” Bucky asks, while trying to not let it show  _ exactly _ how much that comment managed to get to him. Sure, he may have just celebrated his hundredth birthday, but that doesn't make him a freaking  _ relic. _

“Don’t know,” Nat says. “Something more old school maybe? Charleston? Fox trot?”

“Waltz?” Sam chips in innocently. Bucky sends him a dark glare.

“I’m from the Forties, not the 400’s,” he declares firmly. “And for your information, I’ve seen the stuff people call ‘dancing’ these days. Doesn’t exactly look complicated.”

“Wanna bet?” Nat asks smugly.

Before Bucky has time to think it through, he hears himself reply, “How much?”

“Oh, I don’t bet money, tough guy,” Natasha says, chuckling. “But I’ll tell you what; if you manage to keep up with the rest of us for the first hour, I’ll take your half of kitchen duty next week.”

Bucky gnaws his bottom lip. It’s not exactly a secret around the tower that he hates kitchen duty. Then again, as tempting as the offer may sound, it also sends alarm bells ringing in the back of Bucky's mind. Because such an offer rarely comes without some kind of catch.

“And if I don’t?” he asks slowly.

“You admit that dancing is a perfectly legit form of exercise,” Nat declares, “ _ and _ you come back to take the next class as well.”

Well, that pretty much settles it. Bucky will gladly take a dance class over kitchen duty any damn day of the week – bet or no bet.

“Deal,” he decides. He stands up to clasp around Natasha’s offered hand from across the coffee table, before turning away to head towards the stairs leading up towards his and Steve's floor. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Steve calls out after him, obviously confused.

“Getting my gym shoes,” Bucky calls back. “I may not have been out and about for a while, but I sure know better than trying to bop around the dancefloor in  _ boots _ .”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Bucky ends up changing into gym clothes before they leave. He feels confident that Nat had just tried to scare him with the talk of complicated choreography, but the closer they get to the dance studio, the more that confidence begins to wither.

Come to think of it, it’s been ages since he last danced. And that’s not even a metaphor; the last steps he took to music had been back in 1945. 

He expects the dance studio to be some sort of flashy establishment, but as Nat pulls up to the curb, he finds himself looking at what appears to be an ordinary brick building, located on a busy street less than a ten minute drive from Stark Tower.

“This is it?” Bucky asks, squinting at the inconspicuous door marked “Dance Studio” that’s been squeezed in between an Asian fusion restaurant and a spa. 

“Yup,” Natasha replies simply. The car alarm gives a short, confirming beep as she uses the remote to lock it, and then she strides past Bucky to push the door open. Bucky follows in silence, trudging up the stairs Natasha leads him to, and once they reach the second floor, Nat takes a sharp left through a door with the same sign as the door downstairs.

It is, in fact, a rather nice dance studio.

The wooden floor is worn, but it’s not chipped or cracked. There are floor-to-ceiling mirrors covering the entire right-hand wall, and four of the seven windows have been equipped with air conditioners, which makes the room feel comfortably cool and almost chilly in comparison to the warm spring weather outside.

As Bucky and Natasha enter the room, there are already people there. Bucky, who had been expecting a room filled with strangers, experiences a confusing mix of calming surprise and nervous anxiety when he sees them.

First off, the group consists exclusively of women, and they’re all dressed in clothes similar to the ones Natasha is currently wearing. Bucky recognizes Wanda and Pepper immediately, seeing as they both more-or-less live in the tower along with Steve and him. Sharon is another familiar face, as well as Maria. The two women standing over by one of the speakers are strangers, however.

They all look up when Bucky and Nat walk through the door, and the excited conversations that had filled the air immediately die down to complete silence. Bucky suddenly gets the notion that he’s a fox that’s accidentally wandered into a hen house. Only here, the hens are a lethal, resourceful breed, with beaks and talons sharp enough to kill a grown man in seconds.

“Hello,” Nat greets them cheerfully as she drops her gym bag onto the floor with a thud. “I brought along some reinforcements.” She nods towards Bucky, and Bucky raises his hand in a silent (and what feels like an incredibly graceless) wave.

Wanda gives him a soft, “Hi, Bucky,” and Bucky returns it with a fond quirk of his lips. He likes Wanda. She’s nice.

Sharon and Pepper give him encouraging smiles, while Maria looks him over in silence, evaluating him. Out of the people he knows, Maria is the one whom Bucky’s seen the least since his initial recovery from being a brainwashed murder-machine. 

Even though they both know he no longer is one, Bucky has already accepted that Maria will most likely never look at him without at least a little suspicion. He did try to murder her boss, after all.  _ Twice. _

The two unknown ladies are still looking hesitant at his presence, and Nat, being the observant person that she is, notices too.

“Bucky, this is Jane,” she introduces, grabbing him by the left wrist to lead him up to the duo. “You know, Thor’s Jane.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, as a plethora of puzzle pieces immediately falls into place. Bucky has only met Thor a handful of times, but he likes the guy. He’s so refreshingly blunt and honest, whereas others prefer to tip-toe around Bucky as if they’re scared too much noise will make him shatter and break. 

“Pleased to finally meet you,” he offers towards Jane, along with his right hand. 

“Likewise,” Jane replies, and she reciprocates his handshake with a smile. “Thor talks about you a lot.”

“Does he, now?” Bucky says with a genuine chuckle of surprise. “Only ‘bout the good stuff, I hope.”

He shifts his gaze to the woman by Jane’s side, and feels his stomach drop when he sees that she’s looking straight at his metal arm. He’s used to that, of course; a metal arm isn’t exactly something you can pick up at the regular hardware store, but it still makes him feel way too self-conscious when he sees people staring at it.

He’s just about to open his mouth and tell her… well, something, he’s not really sure what, but he doesn’t get the time. Before he so much as gets a word past his lips, the woman has reached out and unceremoniously placed her palm around the gleaming swell of his bicep with an impressed whistle.

“That’s so cool,” she mumbles under her breath, and Bucky feels his cheeks burn as they immediately sport a shade of scarlet that would have put Wanda’s jacket to shame.

“Thanks,” he blurts out, and the woman blinks, as if she only just then realizes what it is that she’s doing.

“Oh, sorry,” she says quickly, yanking her hand back. “Maybe you don’t want people touching it and stuff?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky promises, before adding, “Feels nice to meet someone who’s not afraid of it for a change.” He holds his human hand out. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Darcy Lewis,” the woman, Darcy, replies as she grasps his hand. “And just for the record, I don’t scare easily.”

“Good to know.” He turns to give the room a sweeping look. “You've been going to these classes long?” he asks.

“Oh, me and Jane just started the other week. So the others agreed to keep the steps fairly simple for us until we get the hang of it.”

“That's nice of them,” Bucky comments, while simultaneously giving himself a mental high five. Simple steps; he likes the sound of that.

“It is,” Darcy agrees. “I mean, I've danced at clubs before and all, but not like this.”

On the inside, Bucky immediately stops cheering and goes dead quiet. “Oh,” he says. “I'm not sure— What kind of way is ‘this’, exactly?”

“You know,” Darcy says. “Show dancing. Like, the kind you see at cabarets and stuff.”

Bucky blinks. Show dance. 

Cabarets.

A fleeting image emerges from the depths of his mind; a photo of Steve, dressed in star spangled spandex, surrounded by two dozens of girls in similar colors on a stage. And then, a hasty image of his own hand, slowly brushing over red and white, silken fabric as he tries out the texture of it beneath his fingers.

It's all gone before he has a chance to investigate the memory further. It’s frustrating, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it used to be in the past; where a flashback could send him falling to his knees and clutching his head while screaming in agony. Nowadays, these things don’t cause anything worse than a moment of mild disorientation, and Bucky quickly looks up, blinking at Darcy who's looking at him with a curious frown. Bucky fires off a smile at her, and she opens her mouth to speak. 

She doesn't get far, however, because at that exact moment, Natasha casually strides over to the stereo and the rest of the women begin to take their places in front of the mirrored wall. Darcy gives him a slanted smile and a shrug that say “nice talking to you,” and, “sorry, gotta go,” all at once, and then she goes to stand next to Jane on the other side of the room.

Just like that, Bucky feels like a bull in a China shop. He ends up awkwardly hovering, as far out in the back row as he can possibly get, as Natasha walks up in front of the mirror to face the rest of the group. Bucky frowns. Isn’t there a proper instructor coming? 

“Okay,” Nat says, sounding every bit as the professional Bucky knows her to be. “So last time, we went over the basic steps to the new routine. Today, I figured we’re gonna start with going through them again, and then we’ll add the upper body movements to it before we take our break. Sounds good?”

“Will we do the shoes today too?” Pepper asks hopefully. She sends Bucky a flickering glance through the mirror, and Bucky just barely resists the urge to look down at his own feet. Everyone else in the room is also wearing sneakers, so it’s not as if his shoes are standing out or anything. What is she talking about?

“Next time,” Nat says with a secretive smirk that has the other ladies smiling and whispering between themselves. All of them are looking at him, trying to be discreet, and Bucky feels his stomach tie itself into a confused, foreboding knot. Then, Nat begins to count them in, and Bucky’s entire focus is directed towards studying her feet and legs as she begins to move.

In his defence, the moves are nothing whatsoever like the way they used to dance back in the day. Later, Bucky realizes that this is most likely what Nat had been counting on.

It all goes more-or-less exactly like she had predicted. Bucky tries, but fails miserably, to keep up with the rest of the ladies. His feet-to-beat coordination is nowhere near that of Natasha’s graceful movements, Wanda’s delicacy, or Pepper’s confident strut across the dancefloor. He manages, of course – he's not  _ Steve _ – and he even does get a sort of consistency to the movements going after the fourth time around, but he still feels like an absolute disaster in comparison to the others.

Had lindy hop really been this difficult? He sure doesn’t  _ remember  _ it being this difficult!

Adding arms to the steps makes it all even worse, and by the time Nat finally announces that it’s time for them to take a break, Bucky is all but ready to collapse right there on the floor. He manages to keep himself upright just until he can have a proper seat on one of the chairs that are lining the short end of the wall, next to the door. He heaves himself down on top of the nearest one with a groan of relief, at the same time as he tips his head back against the wall. His t-shirt is sticking to his back in soaked-through patches, and he feels about as fresh as a month-old deo stick where he sits, attempting to catch his breath before he ends up fainting from oxygen loss. 

He’s perfectly aware that he’s lost the bet long before Natasha comes sauntering his way, and he closes his eyes while holding up his left hand, palm up, to stop her before she even begins to speak.

“Don’t say it,” he orders, still panting. “I know.”

“Are you sure?” Natasha asks.

“Positive,” Bucky grumbles. He opens his eyes as he sits up tall in his seat to look at her. Then, as a second thought, he also stands up, fixing her gaze with his. 

“I’m sorry I called dancing an inadequate way of working out,” he declares, loud enough for everyone around them to hear, should they want to. “It’s a strenuous form of exercise that requires strength, grace, focus, and a shit-ton of coordination. In short, I’m a tool, and you were right. I’m sorry.”

He can hear a few of the women suppress hushed giggles behind his back, but the corner of Natasha’s mouth only gives an amused little twitch as she regards him in silence for a moment, before bringing a hand up to pet his cheek with the tip of her index finger.

“See?” she says sweetly. “That wasn’t too hard, was it?”

“As a matter of fact, I might be dying as we speak,” Bucky objects with a grimace, and this time, Natasha actually laughs as she gives his shoulder a playful shove.

Soon enough – in Bucky’s opinion,  _ way  _ too soon, really – they’re back at it again, and believe it or not, this time Bucky actually feels like he’s got the whole step-step-slide thing down a lot better. Even the arm action begins to feel rhythmical and flowing, and Bucky watches in helpless fascination how well his left arm moves along with the beat, just as smoothly as his right one does.

Before he knows it, the class is over, and the ladies begin to gather up their towels and gym bags as they file out the door, one by one, throwing  little goodbye waves and smiles his way. He answers them all with little waves of his own, which feels like an unaccustomed, yet oddly pleasant thing for him to do, social-wise.

Soon enough, he and Nat are the only ones left in the studio, and Bucky helps Nat make sure the stereo equipment is turned off and properly unplugged, before they collect their belongings, turn off the lights, and head out.

“So, if you don't mind me asking,” Bucky starts as they head down the stairs. “How come you ended up being the instructor for this? I thought you just, you know, took the class?”

“It just worked out that way. I did take professional dance lessons at one point, after all,” Natasha informs him nonchalantly, and Bucky immediately feels a stab of guilt inside his chest.

“Don't do that,” Natasha tells him, without even turning around to look.

“I'm not doing anything,” Bucky objects. 

“You're doing the kicked puppy face. Stop it. Red Room was a long time ago.”

“I know what it's like, Nat. It may have been long ago, but that doesn't mean it was  _ long ago _ .”

“I just wanted to do something fun,” Nat says while pushing the door open to the street outside. “Just for us girls, without having to ask Tony for a place to do it. The studio is rent-free – Pepper bought the place back when she and Tony went through a rough patch. Figured she’d re-work it into a studio apartment, but ended up keeping it as it was. Which is lucky for us.”

“Well, they really seem to enjoy it,” Bucky offers. Nat unlocks the car, and as they climb inside, Bucky adds, “You're a good teacher.”

“Thanks,” Nat beams back. Bucky gives her a gentle smile before turning away to look out the window while Nat pulls out of the parking space and into traffic.

Bucky hums a few whimsical tunes reminiscent of the recent dance music, under his breath as he studies the busy street outside. He's not aware that he's tapping his fingers against his knees along with the beat until Nat suddenly turns to send a curious little glance his way.

“You're smiling,” she says, and Bucky ducks his head with a chuckle.

“Guess I am,” he admits. 

“So does that mean you had fun?”

“It does.” He gnaws on his bottom lip, and then he shakes his head with another snorted laugh. “It's been so long since I last danced. I should have realized that had changed while I was out of it, too.”

“Don't be too hard on yourself,” Nat tells him. “You did good. For an old man.”

“Ha, ha,” Bucky replies dryly, and Natasha laughs.

“So,” she continues, her eyes flitting between him and the road ahead, “do you plan to hold up the rest of our agreement?”

“Of course,” Bucky retorts. “A bet’s a bet, right?”

“Good,” Nat says. “It'll all be a lot easier if I won't have to drag you along next time.”

“Yeah, when  _ is _ next time, by the way?”

“Saturday,” Nat informs him. “We have class twice a week. Our schedules don't always match up to allow us to always meet at the same time, like today. That’s why everyone has a spare key to the studio to get in.”

“Makes sense. But what happens if you're not there?”

“Give them some credit, Barnes,” Natasha berates him. “Dancing is all about creativity, and if there's one thing these girls know, it's how to get things done.”

“ _ That _ I don't doubt for a second,” Bucky assures her. “I was just curious. You know, for next time.”

“So you're actually coming?” Nat prompts, as if she doesn't dare to believe him.

“I already told you, I am,” Bucky says with a huff. “Unlike my walking, talking, disaster-magnet of a partner, I'm not a sore loser.”

“Steve's a sore loser?” Natasha asks, laughing.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Bucky says gravely. “Once, during the war, I beat him at gin rummy six times in a row. I swear, had it not been for the fact that his orders demanded it, he wouldn't have spoken to me for a week.”

From the driver’s seat, Natasha gives a low, impressed whistle.

“That is amazing,” she says.

“I know,” Bucky agrees.

“I'm also sure you handled your victories  _ very _ gracefully.”

“Oh, I did. Steve didn't agree with me, but I still say that a little teasing only did him good back then. I couldn't let him get too cocky, you know?” 

“Of course.”

Bucky pauses. He looks at Natasha’s hand where she grips around the steering wheel. For a moment, the crimson color of her nail polish has him feeling as if he ought to remember something else. Something that had also been part of that night in Steve's tent, but it slips out of his grip before it has a chance to take a proper form, and then it's gone.

“So,” he says, returning to topic. “Are you driving us to class on Saturday too?”

“If you want me to,” Natasha offers.

“Should be easier to find a place to park that way, right?” Bucky thinks out loud. “I mean, it's not gonna be like, super-early, is it?” he adds with a worried glance her way, and Natasha shakes her head, smiling.

“It's the same time as today,” she promises. “Don't worry, you and Steve will get all the beauty sleep you need.”

“Good,” Bucky replies, smiling as he turns back to the window, fingers already tapping  contentedly against the top of his thigh.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments (but play nice, okay?)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3
> 
> _Chapter note: I was told that pumps can also refer to flat shoes, so to avoid any confusion  
>  the "pumps" mentioned in this chapter, look like [this](http://www.sandipointe.com/im/shoes/black-pump-shoes-0.jpg)._

Chapter 2

 

Bucky does go with Natasha to the studio, come Saturday afternoon. The others greet him with cheerful waves and nods, which he politely responds to, even though he's perplexed that they all seem so happy to see him return. He’s a bit disappointed to find that Darcy isn’t there this time around, and the sentiment catches him a bit off guard. He hadn’t realized that he had been looking forward to seeing her until he realized that she wasn’t coming.

Jane is there, however, and Bucky makes his way over to sit down on the chair next to hers by the wall.

“Hey,” he greets, and Jane looks up, looking pleasantly surprised that he’s chosen to approach her, out of all the people in the room. 

“Hi,” she replies. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Bucky answers. “You, uh… You here alone today?”

“Yeah,” Jane says with a sigh. “Darcy couldn’t make it. She had to study.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. “I didn’t realize she was still in school?”

“She’s not,” Jane confirms. “Or, she wasn’t, until just recently. Now she’s both working and studying all at once. You ask me, I don’t know how she stands it.”

“It sounds busy,” Bucky agrees. “How come she decided to go back to school?”

“She’s getting sick of work,” Jane says. “So she’s studying for a higher degree to change department to one she’s convinced she’ll like better. She had a great time working for Doctor Selvig in D.C., but…” 

She trails off, as if she's not so sure whether or not she should continue, but then she sighs again, throwing her hand out. “Apparently, a new guy was recently transferred to her group, and he’s giving her a lot of trouble – which means the situation is pretty damn bad, considering that it’s Darcy we’re talking about,” she ends with an impressed arch of her eyebrows.

Bucky frowns. 

“What kind of trouble do you mean, exactly?” he asks slowly, and Jane looks at him. He meets her gaze, and her eyes widen.

“Oh, no,” she says hurriedly. “Not  _ that _ kind of trouble. I mean, at least she hasn't mentioned anything like that. It's all, you know… Letting her do all the work, and then taking credit for it. Talking down to her and ridiculing her theories in front of their colleagues, only to use it for himself a split second later. Interrupting her, talking over her head, talking  _ for  _ her… The usual stuff.”

“Usual stuff,” Bucky repeats. 

He doesn't like the tone she uses as she says it. She sounds too tired, too resigned for ‘the usual stuff’ to have a positive, or even neutral, meaning.

To be fair, most of the things she just described sounds just like the kind of behaviour Bucky had seen more-or-less every day while growing up. He hadn't considered anything to be wrong with it back then – it had just been the way things  _ were _ – but lately, he's come to understand that a lot of things about women has changed drastically while he's been out of the world.

It’s confusing. Before, holding the door up for a woman, or pay for dinner, would have been the epitome of good manners. Today, the opinions appear to differ. It scares him, to be honest. To think that some of the things that he can remember his mother teaching him never to forget is something he’d now risk maybe getting yelled at for, is enough to make him rather stand back and keep his mouth shut rather than interact with any women at all. And sure, he gets it, in a way. Equality sounds like a natural step for humanity to take, given the things he’s read up on regarding the structure of modern society, and for women wanting to be treated with the same respect as men should have been a simple thing to achieve. The concept, as a whole, sounds pretty damn simple, really. Just, don’t be a dick. Apparently, though, some guys still seem to have trouble grasping it.

“I didn't think things like that happened anymore,” he mumbles under his breath, and Jane shrugs.

“Yeah, well, what else is new, right?” she says, smiling. It’s a bitter smile, and Bucky finds himself curling his hand into a fist against the top of his knee in frustration as Jane continues, even sadder, “Thor gets sick of it too. He’s promised your government not to cause any trouble while he’s here, though, so he doesn’t do any of the things I know he’d really like to when he hears guys talk to women like that.”

“He really takes it that seriously?” Bucky asks, somewhat baffled, and Jane quirks a brow at him.

“Why shouldn't he?” she counters. “I've been to Asgard, I've seen how women are treated there. I'd like to see the man who'd dare try to take credit for an Asgardian woman’s work.”

“Let me guess,” Bucky says with an amused smile, “he'd be lucky if he survives long enough to tell the tale?”

“Something like that,” Jane muses, but then her smile fades as she turns to look down at the floor between her feet. “It's just so frustrating, you know?” she says. “To always be looked at as if you're not only physically weaker, but also  _ dumber _ than the opposite sex. And as soon as you find success in your profession, people assume you've slept your way to it.”

“Not you, surely?” Bucky objects, and Jane gives a bitter laugh.

“Oh, if you only knew,” she says with a sigh. “I don't think there's a successful woman alive who hasn't been accused of sleeping with her male colleagues at some point.”

“That's ridiculous,” Bucky says, even as a tiny little voice in the back of his head informs him that he had thought the same thing about Peggy once.

_ (C’mon, Steve, really? A woman in the military? At the  _ front? _ You know there's gotta be something more to that than just  _ professional _ experience.) _

The memory sends shame twisting through his chest, like a venomous snake. He doesn't like it. But he likes the thought of someone talking about Jane, or Darcy, or any of the women currently in the studio with him in that way even less.

“Well…” he says slowly. “Next time that happens, tell Thor he doesn't have to worry about hunting the guy down. I've got more experience with the whole pursue-and-destroy gig than he does.”

Jane sends him a sharp look, but as he meets it, it softens into something kinder, almost grateful. Then she lets out a soft laugh as she stands up from her seat, and Bucky follows suit, walking with her onto the dance floor to take his place in front of the mirror when Nat goes to flip the stereo on.

The class starts, and soon, Bucky is all wrapped up in the dancing. He’s forgotten a few of the moves since last time, but they come back to him remarkably quickly. After a few repetitions, however, Nat introduces some new steps to the routine, and Bucky stares as she demonstrates what it is she wants them to do. 

_ Well, _ he thinks to himself.  _ It sure ain’t no foxtrot... _

The hip movements alone makes up for a very suggestive display, and Bucky glances around in anxious awkwardness as the ladies around him try the move out.  _ Bend, roll, roll, cuuurl…  _

Bucky gulps. For a moment, he’s about to give up, right then and there. There’s  _ no way _ he can move like that and not look absolutely ridiculous. But then he glances up and meets with the serene green of Wanda’s gaze in the mirror, and she gives him a slow encouraging nod, before going through the motions again, slower.

Bucky follows her lead, and she smiles, nodding again. As they go through the steps one more time, together, her smile widens, and Bucky feels himself smile back, despite hoping that none of the other ladies are looking his way. At least not yet.

When Nat starts the music up again, it becomes a bit harder to keep up with the beat, which suddenly feels a million times faster than before. Somehow, Bucky still manages. And when he finally gathers the courage to look at someone other than himself in the mirror, he has to admit, seeing all of them do the new steps together, in sync, really does make up for a pretty nice effect. 

As the time for their break comes around, Bucky is feeling pretty damn good about himself. However, his cheerful mood is marred by a shadow of confusion when he notices that rather than just sitting down on the floor to rest, all of the women has also begun to untie and remove their gym shoes. 

When it becomes clear that bare feet will have something to do with the remainder of the class, Bucky casually sidles up to Jane and gives her a polite touch to the elbow in order to catch her attention. 

“What’s up with the footwear?” he murmurs. “Did I miss something?”

“Oh, no,” Jane says, “We’re just doing shoes.”

“Saturday is shoe-day,” Pepper chimes in from the floor on Bucky’s right, and when Bucky turns to look at her, she pulls out a pair of black, high heeled pumps from her gym bag and holds them up, as if they explain everything. When Bucky’s only response is to, most likely, look like a human question mark, Pepper sighs and rolls her eyes at him with a smile.

“Heels, you dummy,” she says. “We do the exact same thing, but in heels.”

“Oh,” Bucky says. Looking around, it all makes so much more sense as he notices that all the others are currently in the middle of putting on pairs of the exact same model of shoe on their own feet. 

“Well,” he says, relaxing a little. “I mean, that’s cool.”

“You wanna try it?” Natasha suddenly pipes up right behind his back, and Bucky counters the urge to flinch by letting out a nervous laugh. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says without even turning around, “but I actually prefer my ankles unbroken.” 

“What?” Natasha teases while draping herself against his left shoulder. “Your super-soldier qualities can’t handle another three inches?”

“If that’s supposed to be a dirty joke, then I’d say that depends on the girth rather than the length,” Bucky quips back, shamelessly. “Besides, the question is pretty redundant, since I don’t own any heels.”

“Yes you do.”

Bucky freezes. He’s still trying to figure out if Natasha is trying to pull another one-liner on his expense, when she reaches her arm around his other shoulder to dangle yet another pair of black, high-heeled pumps, right in front of his face. Bucky stares at them.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he says flatly.

“Nope.”

Nat yanks the pumps back over his shoulder, and as Bucky turns around to face her, she tosses him the shoes, one by one. Bucky catches them with a frown.

“Put them on,” Natasha coaxes. “Try them out.”

“You want me to  _ dance _ in these?” Bucky asks incredulously.

“Why not?” Natasha counters. “Everyone’s doing it.”

“Yeah, but you’re all da—” He cuts himself off so fast, he nearly snags the tip of his tongue. He had been stumbling close to say  _ dames _ , but it only takes him one look at the warning curve of Natasha’s eyebrow to realize that continuing down that path in this conversation might not work in his favor at all. 

“You know what,” he grumbles, “never mind.”

He looks at the shoes in his hands, turning them over to study the soles of them. They’re not plastic. Or rubber. In fact, he’s pretty certain they’re some kind of leather, or suede. 

Professional dancing shoes, then.

Throwing one final look around the room, he sees that everyone is looking at him; open and unabashed expectancy shining in their eyes. Bucky’s aware that he is perfectly allowed to say no. Sure, they’ll heckle him, and tease him about not even being willing to  _ try _ , but it’d all be in good fun. 

So naturally, Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh, before plopping himself down on the floor to untie his shoes and tug them off along with his socks. He makes a hasty attempt to casually brush the lint off his toes, but gives it up as he instead pulls the dark pumps onto his feet with a low grunt.

If he has to be perfectly honest with himself, they don’t feel all that bad. 

He had expected squished toes, hard soles, and sharp edges that cut into his Achilles tendon. Instead, the sock of the heels fit snug around his feet, with no chafing or discomfort whatsoever. The soft soles are different from his gym sneakers, and it feels a bit weird, but it doesn’t feel… bad?

The only thing that makes him feel as if he’s doing something he shouldn’t, is that he’s now wearing shoes without any socks on. 

“How do they feel?” Natasha prompts. “They fit okay?”

“I guess?” Bucky mumbles. He wiggles his toes a little, just to test out the space. Sure, it’s not exactly  _ roomy _ , not compared to his gym sneakers, but something tells him they’re  _ supposed _ to feel that way. How he knows that, however, he has no idea.

His knees give a slight wobble as he rises to a stand to finds his balance, but he’s glad to realise that it’s not nearly as difficult to do so as he had expected. As he taking a few experimental steps forward, Bucky is fully aware of the fact that everyone is watching him intently. It makes him feel weird. Nervous, yet at the same time, oddly encouraged. 

Determined to give it his best shot, Bucky straightens up, lifts his chin, pulls his shoulders back, and walks. As a result, he ends up being the most surprised person in the room when he confidently strides right across the width of the studio without even as much as a wobble, before turning around and walking the same way back. 

Pepper and Jane both give him approving, slightly surprised nods. Maria’s eyebrows shoot up to form what Bucky decides to interpret as her impressed face, and Wanda smiles, wide and warm at him, as if she’s proud. For some reason, all of those thing make him feel even more self-conscious than having them laughing at him would have.

He looks at Nat. “May I ask how you knew what size I wear?” he asks politely.

“You really don’t think I know how to estimate people’s shoe size just by looking?” she replies flatly, but when Bucky remains silent, she rolls her eyes to the ceiling with a heavy sigh. “Alright, so I may have snuck a peek in your boots back at the tower. Sue me.”

“You could have just asked, you know?” Bucky points out sweetly, and in return, she grants him a secretive little smirk and a wink, before turning around to walk back to the stereo. 

They take their places on the studio floor, and Bucky frowns at his own reflection when he realizes that the heels make him tower over just about everyone else. Except Pepper. Damn, she’s is a tall woman; how had he not noticed that before?

When the music starts, Bucky spends the first two repetitions of the song simply worrying about slipping and falling on his ass. His movements are stiff, and he ends up looking more like he’s flailing and stomping rather than dancing. It’s pretty damn laughable. Then, he begins to study how the others are doing, and realizes that one of the biggest perks of wearing professional dancing shoes while dancing, is that you can actually  _ dance  _ in them. 

So he begins to relax, slowly. He starts by bending his knees rather than his back, before adding a little bit of a sway to his hips.  _ Step, step, turn, stomp, bend, roll, roll, cuuurl. _

Well, shit. That didn’t look all that bad. As a matter of fact, it actually looked pretty damn cool?

The third time around, the routine flows almost naturally, and yes, Bucky decides that there is absolutely something about doing this together that sends electricity sparking through the air. There’s so much energy – so much  _ oomph! _ – in being a part of it all, it nearly makes the hair on his forearms stand on end. It doesn’t even matter that he’s the only man in the room, or the fact that he’s currently a man wearing three inch heels while preening in front of a mirror that’s larger than his entire living room wall. It doesn’t matter a single bit, because it’s  _ fun. _ So much fun, that afterwards, Bucky actually feels reluctant to take the heels off once the class is over. The sentiment is a little like realizing that the roller-coaster cart you’re in is slowly coming to a halt at the platform, and that the ride is now inevitably over. 

It helps a little that Natasha refuses to take the shoes back when he tries to return them. “I bought them for you,” she insists while shoving the pumps down the main compartment of his gym bag, and Bucky lets her without another word. 

Still, once he’s back to wearing his gym sneakers and walking down the stairs with Nat trailing behind him, he can’t help but feel both clumsy and graceless when the heavy sounds of his footsteps rebound from the walls of the stairwell around them.

  
  


/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Bucky spends the following two days thinking a lot about dancing. 

The night after coming back from Saturday’s dance class, he sits on his side of Steve’s and his bed with the black pumps in his hands, just looking at them while he runs his fingertips over the material.

He thinks about how dancing had made him feel; not just to dance again, after all this time, but to dance like  _ that. _ All sexily and… not… manly. He cringes on the inside, even as he thinks it. Not manly. It sounds wrong. Like a half truth, or… something worse.

At one point, he contemplates putting the shoes on, but he never does. A part of him is scared that it won’t feel the same as it had in the dance studio should he try it here, in the safety of his own home. Another part is just as equally terrified that it will. 

He doesn’t tell Steve about it, though. There’s really no point in doing so, he tells himself. Steve doesn’t have to know. This had just been a fun thing between him and the girls, after all. A joke. Nothing serious.

Yet, he can’t stop thinking about it. 

Even as he tries to sleep, the thoughts keep him awake to the point where he feels as if he's right back where he had started a year ago; with sleepless nights and nightmares slowly eating him away from the inside out. Not even the comforting warmth of Steve's arms help, and when he wakes up, he still feels as if he'd rather be back in cryo, just to get  _ some _ kind of rest.

Eventually, he ends up in front of the common room T.V. along with Sam on Sunday afternoon, having spent the entire day restlessly wandering around the tower while feeling like a prisoner in his own skin. He sits there, curled up against the armrest while Sam leans back in the recliner with his feet nonchalantly resting on the coffee table, zapping through the channels with what appears to be lukewarm interest. The zapping stops when the image of a leather corset and the rear end of a pair of short-shorts flashes into frame, along with the rather generous view of a female cleavage. Bucky gives the man on the couch a long, steady look, but when Sam ignores him, he sighs and turns his eyes back to look at the T.V.

It’s some sort of dancing competition, Bucky assumes, but his initial exasperation with Sam’s so painfully heterosexual choice of entertainment is swiftly overcome by the spark of interest that ignites the moment Bucky starts paying attention to what they’re actually watching.

The dancers are good. As in  _ really _ good.

He looks at the screen in silent wonder until the performance is over, and then, to his utmost disappointment, Sam changes the channel.

“Hey, I wanted to see that,” he objects, and Sam raises his eyebrows at him in silence, as if asking if he’s actually serious. He puts the show back on, however, and Bucky goes back to watching as the announcer introduces the next performing dance group. Or  _ crew _ , as they’re apparently called.

“I didn’t realize you were interested in these sort of things,” Sam says after a brief silence, and Bucky shrugs.

“Looks cool, is all.”

Again, Sam raises his eyebrows at him, and Bucky shifts a little in his seat as he tries to resist the urge to clear his throat. He nods towards the T.V. where a recap of last week’s episode shows an all-girls group rehearsing their routine in a studio. All of them are wearing heels.

“I mean, can you imagine how much focus it takes to dance in shoes like that?” he asks, and Sam glances at the screen, pursing his lips in thought.

“They don’t exactly look comfortable,” he agrees after a moment’s pause. “I mean, with the way women complain about their shoes hurting them all the time,  _ I _ sure as hell wouldn’t wanna wear’em.”

“Yeah, well, dancing shoes are different,” Bucky says, before he can stop himself, and he quickly adds, “at least they used to be, back in my day. They were softer. Not as… plastic.”

“Most things are plastic nowadays, man,” Sam supplies him. “Half the girls you see on T.V. included.”

Bucky glances at Sam. There’s something about the way he says it; like he’s talking about something he’d rather not admit being intrigued by, and for some reason, the mental image of Darcy’s hand smoothing over the silver of Bucky’s own arm makes an appearance inside Bucky’s head. It’s a confusing moment, and he’s not sure why his brain wants to make a connection between the two events, but then again, he’s never quite sure why the hell his brain does some of the things it does anymore. 

“What about the fellas?” he asks instead.

“Oh, they’re just as bad,” Sam assures him. “I think most of the flat abs and bulging muscles we see in commercials and stuff has gotten a lot of help from Photoshop before they got cleared for public consumption. Filters, man.” He makes a swooping, vertical gesture with his hand over his face, as if pulling down a screen. “They’re everywhere.”

Bucky frowns, because he’s not so sure if a filter that gives you more muscle mass actually exists – ignoring the scientific wonder that is one Steve Rogers . And if it does, he’s willing to bet his entire gun collection that it’s something Tony Stark invented one night when he was bored, just to pass the time.

Bucky looks back to the T.V.. The girls are just about to start their new performance, and Bucky is pleasantly surprised to find that they are actually better than the previous group from before. Their movements are so in sync, it almost looks fake, and one of them actually does a backwards hand flip at one point – heels and all.

“Can’t do that with a filter,” Bucky says solemnly, and Sam nods, agreeing.

“You sure can’t.”

Bucky licks his lips. A thought has suddenly appeared to him, and as he throws swift, hesitant glance Sam’s way, he wonders if it would be worth the shot. Sam does know a lot more about how things work out there in the ‘real’ world, after all. Better than Steve would, at least. He's also a hell of a lot more prone to make fun of Bucky every chance he gets, but then again, no victories ever came from playing things safe…

“Hey,” Bucky says, and when Sam looks his way, he fights down the nervous lurch in his stomach, before he can chicken out. “This whole thing,” he says while gesturing vaguely to the screen with his metal hand, “dancing, I mean… Is that… common?”

“I… I think so?” Sam replies, even though he both looks and sounds as if he’s not quite sure what Bucky is asking him. “I mean, it’s a popular hobby, if you’re into that kind of stuff?”

“Among guys too?” Bucky's throat makes a weird, clenching little thing around his windpipe, to the point where he can barely get the words out.

“What, you mean if guys dance?” Sam asks with a chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, sure they do.”

“Ah…” Bucky murmurs. “And that’s… That's okay? With people, I mean?”

Sam narrows his eyes at him, and Bucky quickly looks away.

“What are you really asking me about here?” Sam asks slowly. “Are we talking about guys dancing in general? Or are we talking about  _ you _ ?”

When Bucky doesn't answer, Sam points the remote control to the T.V. and then sits up in his seat to turn his body fully towards the couch where Bucky sits. 

“This is about that dance class Nat dragged you off to the other day, isn't it?” he says slowly, and Bucky let's out a heavy sigh as he momentarily covers his face with his hand. 

“Yeah, it’s… Listen,” he says, taking the hand away to meet Sam’s gaze. “I used to dance a lot back in the day, alright?”

“Right,” Sam says with a nod. 

“And I used to, you know, go out and dance with girls, and— I mean, of course, I’d rather have danced with Steve, but since that wasn’t really an option while we were in public—”

“Yeah, I'm sure that would have been popular,” Sam chips in, making Bucky smile in spite of himself. 

“Yeah,” he agrees bitterly. “Like a punch to the face.”

“Hey, I get it. Dancing meant a lot to you back then, for a number of reasons. But what's all that got to do with Nat’s dance class?”

Bucky sighs, and leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “It's all just so… so  _ different, _ ” he tries to explain. “The whole thing; to just dance for the sake of dancing. Not as a way to meet people, or to show society that you're out and doing what you're  _ ought _ to be doing, but just… for you.” After a moment of hesitation, he also adds, “For me.”

He sighs again as he wrings his hands between his knees, and Sam leans forward to mirror his posture, albeit with a lot more confidence. 

“Listen,” he starts softly. “I know you don't like to hear it, but you really need to get out of this damn building, man. Experience the world properly, with  _ other people.  _ I swear, if you did that, you wouldn't have to worry about these kind of things, because  _ yes _ , you worry,” he adds sternly when Bucky opens his mouth to object. “I'm a professional, alright, it's my job to notice when something bothers people.”

Sam gestures to the screen. “That stuff. It's not worth worrying yourself over. People dance. Men, women, people that are both men and women all at once, or neither. Everyone dances. Why, how, when, or where they do it doesn't matter, as long as they  _ like it.  _ As long as it's  _ fun.” _

He leans back in his seat and folds his arms over his chest. “Google it if you don't believe me.”

“I believe you,” Bucky promises. “It's just that it sounds so…”

“Amazing?” Sam suggests. 

“Scary,” Bucky corrects. He looks Sam in the eye as he continues, a bit lower, “As if it's too good to be true.”

Sam's lip quirk up in a knowing little smile.

“You know, it's funny. That's what Steve said when I told him about guys dating each other being legal nowadays too.”

He stands up from the armchair to clasp a hand over Bucky's human shoulder, squeezing it tight as he adds, “And see how great that turned out.”

With a wink, Sam gives Bucky's arm a final, encouraging pat, and then he walks away. Bucky watches him go, and when he turns back to the T.V. the anxious knot that's been ever-present in his chest since the moment he woke up, finally seems to loosen. 

If only a little bit.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

 

Later that evening, Bucky has managed to go from carefully optimistic, to anxiously worried, to vaguely hopeful, only to land right back at anxious worry once again. It’s an emotional roller-coaster, and it is exhausting.

Thankfully, Steve is not home to witness any of it. He’s gone with Tony to prepare for yet another one of Stark’s benefit projects, so Bucky is left to fight his demons alone, which is just as well.

He’s tried everything. He’s tried showering, sleeping, reading… Hell, he’s even done the _dishes_ , that’s how badly this is getting to him. And still, the only thing he can think of is those damn shoes currently stuffed into his near-empty gym bag underneath the bed. They’re the cause of all this. He’s been able to reach that conclusion, at least.

Dancing with the girls had been fun – just fun – up until Bucky put the heels on. It hadn’t been until after that, that things had begun to get… weird. It had still been fun, only not the kind of satirical fun Bucky had thought the shoes would provide. Because the truth is just as ridiculous as it is simple.

Bucky had liked the heels.

He had liked the feeling of wearing them, of walking in them. He had liked the way they made his legs look, and how they had altered his posture to make the curve of his ass _pop_ , as they say. It had been stupid. _Weird._ But he had liked it nonetheless.

The talk with Sam had been calming, and it had managed to give him at least a moment of respite from the judgemental chatter inside his head. It had been good news to him that it’s still socially acceptable for men to dance; to choreograph, even more so.

He hadn’t asked Sam whether it was socially acceptable for men to perform said choreography while wearing high heels, though, which, like this in hindsight, he probably should have…

Groaning, Bucky drags his hands over his face as he sinks down onto the couch in the living room. Men in heels. _Bucky_ , wearing heels, dear lord, if the Howlie-boys had been able to see him… Dugan would never have let him live it down, and _Jones_ , Jesus Christ—  

Smoke. Cigar smoke and the taste of beer on his tongue. Steve, smiling at him from across a rickety old tabletop, while Dernier holds a loud, intense conversation in French with the waiter of the establishment they’re currently in, regarding a new order of drinks. Someone talking about dames and music. A piano playing. Then, the sound of laughter; drunken and rambunctious, followed by the whirl of pink silk. Pink silk, in his hands, on his skin, against his lips. His _smiling_ lips as Steve kisses him, right there by the table, and Bucky tips his head back against the couch with a hiss when the headache slams into his brain, out of nowhere.

It cuts through his skull like an icicle; sharp and frigid, and Bucky clasps his hand over his forehead with a strangled groan, gritting his teeth.

He’s working himself up too much, he tells himself sternly. His brain is going haywire, mixing things up and making them impossible to distinguish from each other. He’s pretty damn sure that Steve never would have openly kiss him in front of the Howlies, even less in the middle of a packed bar in France. Not because he was ashamed, but for Bucky’s sake. For his safety.

Europe, for all it’s troubles, had been a good place for people like them, but it hadn’t exactly been a sanctuary.

Bucky slowly opens his eyes to stare up at the ceiling. The pain in his frontal lobe is already receding, but it’s been awhile since he’s had an episode like this happen, simply from a memory. Briefly, he wonders if he should tell Steve about it, but quickly decides not to. That big sap would just get worried, like always. Steve’s a sweetheart, and Bucky loves him more than words can say, but dear god, the man needs to learn when to _stand down._

Blinking a few times, Bucky carefully sits up taller in his seat, moving slowly as to not cause the headache to come back. Geez, look at him; freaking out over the tiniest little thing. Maybe he _should_ be wearing heels after all? He’s already acting like a goddamn broad…

The moment the thought crosses his mind, he feels like a complete ass.

 _It's just so frustrating, you know? To always be looked at as if you're not only physically weaker, but also_ dumber _than the opposite sex._

Oh, wow. He just went and did that exact thing, didn’t he? He took a weak trait from himself and immediately decided that it was something that should belong to a woman, rather than a man. Rather than an openly, internationally known, _gay_ man, something that’s already considered to be unmanly as it is by a few billion idiots.

And he did it out of _habit._

The realisation that he might not be much better than the guys Jane had told him about the day before makes him feel like he just stepped in something exceptionally unpleasant. Then again, it had only been _one_ thought, right? It’s not as if _one thought_ made him a bad guy? If Steve could insist that seventy years of brainwashed murder hadn’t been his fault, then surely this couldn’t be _worse?_ Could it?

Sighing, he leans back against the backrest of the couch once more, feeling more and more depressed the more his thoughts wander.

He thinks about Jane. About the dejected tone of her voice, and the resigned slump of her shoulders when she spoke of the way women are treated. Of Darcy, who no longer wants to continue her line of work because of a single person ruining the passion she felt for her career. But mostly, he thinks about himself, and somehow, through some whimsical path laid out by his brain, he finds himself, for the millionth time, thinking about those damn high heels in his gym bag.

Because suddenly he believes himself to have figured out why the thought of wearing those things outside of the dance studio makes him feel so on edge. Because if women are considered weak, silly, and feeble, then surely that must mean that all things feminine are automatically considered to be the same?

Like him, for example. A master ex-assassin super-soldier with an enhanced metal arm that can rip the doors off a car with no effort at all. Deadly, in every sense of the word. Hell, even after the world found out he was queer, he was still considered bad-ass. But should he reveal that he enjoys the feel of women’s shoes on his feet with the same ease as he had admitted to being in love with another man, he’s fairly convinced that the reception wouldn’t be as positive.

Because they’re _women’s_ shoes. A women’s _thing_ , not meant for _men._ Because men considered themselves to be _above_ women’s things.

It makes him angry. And it also makes him sad, because it’s the same old story, all over again. A new part of himself that he doesn’t understand, that he’s not allowed to mention out loud, not allowed to show. Just like it had been with Steve all those years ago. Then again, that had, as Sam had pointed out to him earlier, turned out pretty well in the end. Perhaps, if Bucky’s lucky, there might be some hope of this turning out well too?

Bucky is more than familiar with the concept of drag queens – men who dress like women for entertainment. They had been around back in the good old days as well, although, not quite as flamboyantly advertized as they are now. There had been others too. Men who weren’t _really_ men. Men who wore women’s clothing and wigs in secret, who wished to be women all the time rather than the gender they had been born with. Men who weren't men, and who often met with a grim and not so swift end, if people ever found out. Bucky knows that there’s an entire culture revolved around the concept of men dressing and acting as if they’re women, for various reasons, but this is not like that.

Bucky doesn’t want to act like he’s a dame. He just wants to be _him_ ; including all the original limbs he has left. And if wearing high heels while dancing in front of a mirror makes him feel that way, then what harm could it do, really? Surely, in this age of innovation and sexual liberation, there must be other men out there who feel the same?

He sits up so fast, he nearly knocks one of the throw pillows down as he reaches under the coffee table to pull out his laptop. It’s not all his laptop, really, but Steve doesn’t care much for the thing. Not that Steve’s not technically skilled or intelligent enough to learn how to use it, but because he simply doesn’t see the need to. Com radios and tech used for missions never pose a problem, but in his spare time, Steve’s a lot more old school. Bucky supposes they all should be grateful that his partner’s taken the time to get used to handling a smart phone at the very least.

No, Bucky’s the techie in this relationship, and he just so happens to be pretty good at gathering information as well. So he does the only thing a sensible world-renown ex-assassin would do in this situation, and opens Google.

He tries to search for _fellas dancing_ first,  before remembering that people probably don't use the word _fellas_ anymore  but the results doesn’t give him much. One of the top hits is a link to a Youtube video declaring to show men dancing on a dead whale… Seriously, what is wrong with people?

The second link promises to educate him on club dancing for men, and as close as it may be to the topic, it’s still not the right kind of dancing.

Bucky worries his lower lip between his teeth, pondering his options for a few moments before attempting another search. The term _guys dancing sexy_ gives him links to other Youtube videos, where the title _Grind on Me_ manages to catch his attention enough to click it out of pure curiosity. The video plays, and by the time half of it has finished playing, Bucky realises, blinking, that he’s sitting, half-dazed with his head tilted slightly to the left, and that he might also be drooling a little. Yes indeed, the video is _very_ nice. But it’s _still_ not what he’s looking for.

So, to make it as easy as possible, he decides to simply type in what it is he _actually_ wants to know more about. Then he hits the enter key, and once the results have loaded, he can barely believe what he sees. Right there, at the very top of the list, is a Youtube link, and Bucky stares at the thumbnail image for almost a full minute, before glancing up to the search term he had just entered.

_Men dancing in heels._

He clicks the link. He watches the video.

Then he watches the video again, and again, and a third time over, before clicking the link to the next recommended video in the list on the right side of the screen.

The more he watches, the wider his smile grows, until he’s sitting there on the couch grinning like an absolute goof. God, to move like that. So confident, so smoothly. The attitude is just about as sharp as the stiletto heels of the shoes they’re wearing… Yes, the choreography most definitely appears to have been created with the movements of feminine dancers in mind, but the men performing it are anything _but_. Just watching it makes him want to go back to the studio right this instant and try the moves out for himself.

That’s when his smile goes out, like a switch being flipped. He licks his lips, and gnaws at them, pulling tiny pieces of skin off as he remembers that his bet with Nat has already run its course. He was only supposed to come along for two classes, and he’s gone, just as agreed. He’s got no business in the dance studio anymore, and the loss that realisation makes him feel is enough to send his mood right back to the depressing state it had been in less than thirty minutes ago.

Bucky looks at the paused video on his screen, and then moves his gaze to the door. Then, he closes the browser window, snaps the lid of his laptop shut, and pulls his phone out from the pocket of his jeans.

He sends a silent _thank you_ to the heavens when Natasha picks up after the third ring, and Bucky clears his throat when her voice comes floating from the other end of the line in a curious, but friendly, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Bucky answers, before adding, “Bucky.”

“Hey,” she responds heartily. “What’s up?”

“Not much.” He clears his throat again at the same time as he gets up from the couch and absentmindedly begins to pace back and forth through the living room as he continues, “I’m just calling to, uh, you know… check up on things.”

“Uh-huh?” comes the cajoling reply, and Bucky’s stomach makes a nervous flip.

“Yeah,” he grunts. For a moment, the line goes silent. Then, Bucky takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the metaphorical plunge. “So, how many stores did you have to go through to find a pair of heels my size, huh?” he says jokingly, and he’s relieved when Natasha responds with a slight laugh.

“Not as many as you probably think,” she reveals. “I already knew where to buy them, actually. The online-store we bought the other shoes from carry that model in all sizes.”

“ _All_ sizes?” Bucky asks skeptically.

“Yes,” Nat replies, sounding smug. “ _All_ sizes. Heels are a growing fashion on the male side of the population, after all.”

That comment sends Bucky’s entire body flushing hot, and the only sound he manages to get out is a low, but heartfelt, “Huh.”

“What?” Natasha asks teasingly. “You’re thinking of buying more?”

“No,” Bucky says, all-too-quickly for it to sound genuine, which he realizes the moment the word leaves his mouth. He physically grits his teeth at how absolutely horrid of a lie it is, before calmly continuing into the receiver of the phone, “Just curious.”

“Okay.”

Again the line goes quiet, and Bucky knows that she’s is doing it on purpose now. It’s a strategy to force the conversation forward; to make _him_ talk. He’s used it himself on Steve a number of times, with great success (for example, that’s how he found out that Steve had eaten the last of Bucky’s peanut butter cookies last week) and he’s perfectly aware that Nat most likely already knows why he’s calling. Not that it makes saying anything less difficult…

“You know,” he says while dragging his hand up over his eyes to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “I was just thinking… Next dance class is on Tuesday, right?”

“Yes,” Nat replies simply.

“Are you going?”

“Naturally.”

Bucky pulls his hand back to card his fingers through his hair, fisting the strands at the top of his head, as if doing so will somehow stop his stomach from twisting.

“Can I come with you?”

He blurts the words out in such a rush, for a moment he’s terrified that Nat is going to ask him to repeat them. Instead, all he gets is the chiming sound of her voice as she laughs fondly at him, and when she replies, her voice is soft and safe, like a supportive hand against the center of his back.

“Of course.”

  


/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

When Bucky returns to the studio, he expects there to be questions. He’s expecting answers being demanded as to why he’s back with them once again, but there’s nothing of the sort.

Everyone seems pleased to see him, and as far as Bucky can tell, no one appears to be even surprised as he walks in along with Natasha for the third class in a row.

As he drops his gym bag onto one of the chairs, he feels a light touch to his left elbow. Not many people know that he’s actually able to register touch in his artificial arm, and when he turns around, he’s only partially surprised to come face to face with Wanda’s timid smile.

“Hi,” she greets softly.

“Hey,” he replies while tugging his gym shoes out of the bag. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Wanda says, nodding. “I’m good. You?”

“Never better,” Bucky promises. “Looking forward to class.”

“I can tell,” Wanda says with a laugh as Bucky bends down to untie his boots. As he toes the shoes off, she adds, “I’m glad you came back.”

Bucky pauses for a moment, and the corner off his mouth quirks up in a smile.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing up at her. “Me too.”

“You did real good last time,” Wanda offers. “You're a great dancer.”

“I only did good because you helped me,” Bucky argues. “For a moment there, I was thinking about hanging it up.”

“Oh, don't say that,” Wanda says, sounding dismayed. “It would have been a shame if you’d quit. It's easy to tell that you enjoy dancing, you look so happy.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, also laughing as he straightens up. “I guess that means I usually look _unhappy_ , then?”

"Oh, I didn't—”

“I think what she's trying to say is that you have what the Internet generation calls ‘a resting bitch face’,” Darcy suddenly chimes in as she appears by Bucky's side. “And as far as dancing goes, if you ever wanna quit, you could always try modeling.”

“Modeling?” Bucky echoes skeptically.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy hums. “I heard from Jane that your runway strut is fierce. And if you already know how to move in heels,that’s a big plus.” She snaps her fingers once in the air while gesturing to Bucky's body in a swooping, vertical movement. “Next top model, eat your heart out.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh at her dramatic declaration, and Wanda joins in with an amused look his way.

“What's this I hear about modelling?” Pepper asks curiously from behind Darcy’s back. “Someone looking for a career change?”

“Bucky is,” Darcy informs her as Pepper and Jane come up to join their growing circle of conversation. “He's going to make Naomi Campbell's runway walk look like a toddler’s crawl.”

“Am not,” Bucky objects, because he has no idea who Naomi Campbell is, so he doesn't really want to stake a claim at being better than her at anything. Except maybe arm wrestling.

“C’mon, everyone here’s been talking about how well you move in heels,” Darcy argues, before adding, smugly, “I'm actually a bit bummed out that I wasn't here to witness it first-hand. Rumor has it you could work those legs for money, you know.”

“Are you suggesting I _prostitute_ myself?” Bucky counters with feigned shock in his voice.

“Only if you want to,” Jane offers.

“Exactly,” Nat joins in. She pats his shoulder encouragingly. “But stay away from pimps. Independent business is always better.”

“Couldn't Steve be his pimp?” Maria suddenly pipes up from the corner, making Bucky blink at the sudden turn of topic. The others, on the other hand, immediately jump on the idea.

“Ooh, that might work,” Darcy decides, before adding, “He'd be a very kind pimp, I bet.”

Bucky looks at her, an eyebrow quizzically raised, and in front of him, Nat snorts.

“Steve wouldn't let anyone give Bucky as much as a smack on the ass,” she argues. “The boy cares too much for his investments.”

“He _is_ very protective,” Bucky agrees as he joins in on the joke, however strangely surreal of a topic it might be.

“Guess he has no choice but to fund you himself then,” Jane says with a shrug. “He could sponsor you with shoes?”

“High-heeled boots!” Pepper enthusiastically suggests, and Darcy gives as equally approving, “Yesss,” in return.

Bucky laughs again, shaking his head. This is not a topic of conversation he had expected from a room full of women. Which is a rather sexist thing to assume, he realizes. Shame on him again, it seems.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Pepper suddenly says with a tired sigh. “I need to buy new shoes for Tony’s charity event.”

“What color you gettin’?” Darcy asks while popping a piece of gum into her mouth.

“Red, most likely,” Pepper says. “I'm thinking flats, because there's gonna be a whole lot of mingling and standing around. But heels are more fun,” she adds with a smirk, “because it makes men so uncomfortable when I'm taller than they are.”

“Get wedges?” Maria suggests. “Easier on the feet.”

“That could work, I guess,” Pepper admits. “I wonder if they come in red, though?”

“Do they _have_ to be red?” Bucky asks curiously. He gets the appeal; red heels are sexy, but with his recent delvings into the female world, he doesn't want to bet money on knowing the reason behind anything for sure anymore.

“I’d like them to be,” Pepper replies with a contemplative crease to her brow. “My dress is black, and since I'm planning on not bringing a purse for once, I figured I'd pick a pair of shoes with a little color to spice it up.”

“You're not bringing a purse?” Jane asks, sounding as if Pepper just suggested she’d go to the party naked. Pepper, on the other hand, looks extremely pleased with herself as she leans into the circle with a triumphant smile.

“The dress has pockets,” she sing-songs, and Bucky blinks in confusion as every single woman in the room gives a loud, wistful, and rather envious “Aahh…!” in response.

“I swear, they're amazing,” Pepper continues, gesturing to her knee, “They go all the way to _here_. I could fit an entire champagne bottle in each one, no problem.”

“Bring vodka instead,” Nat suggests calmly. “More buzz per square inch.”

“Trust me, the buzz won't be an issue where we're going. The biggest problem is how to get Tony into the cab once it's time to leave.”

“No worries,” Nat says. “Just call Barnes here, and he'll carry Tony out over his shoulder.”

“As long as I don't have to do it in heels,” Bucky says with a shrug that draws a stream of giggles from the group.

“If push comes to shove, I'm sure I can get Tony to wear heels too,” Pepper says with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

“Oh, I'd pay good money to see that,” Maria says longingly.

“Honestly, something tells me he might actually be pretty good at it,” Pepper says. She brings her hands up in front of her, swaying them from side to side. “It's something about the hips.”

“Wow, you hear that, Barnes?” Nat quips while elbowing Bucky in the ribs. “You've got competition.”

“Oh, no,” Pepper says, laughing. “From what I've seen, Tony’s gonna have to put a whole lot of hours in to get even close to the way Barnes moves.” She turns to Bucky, nodding solemnly as she adds, “Your hips are amazing.”

Bucky promptly flushes a bright shade of scarlet as he ducks his head with an embarrassed laugh. Suddenly, he feels thirteen years old all over again, blushing and stammering like he had when Betty McDougal from across the street had called him cute, right before kissing him on the cheek.

“Thanks,” he murmurs while rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Your moves _are_ gorgeous,” Wanda agrees. “You do the best hip sway I've seen since Maria joined us.”

“You're one to talk,” Maria argues when Bucky's eyebrows rise in an impressed arch. “You're like, the bendiest person in the room, apart from Natasha. I can’t even touch my toes unless I'm already sitting on the floor.”

“Desk jobs will do that to you,” Jane says sympathetically.

“Maybe I should come live at Stark Tower too?” Maria mutters. “Something about it seems to be bringing out the physical talents in people.”

“It sure seems to have brought out Bucky's pelvic talents, all right,” Darcy says, smirking. “Though, I have a feeling that might be more Steve's doing.”

Bucky makes a low, choked noise in the back of his throat, but Darcy just grins back while Pepper rolls her eyes with a dramatic sigh.

“Must be Rogers then,” she decides with a dejected sigh. “Tony’s been living in that Tower longer than anyone, and he still doesn't move like that.”

Natasha purses her lips, looking smug in that now-familiar way that makes Bucky suspect some sort of ambush at any moment.

“Must be,” she agrees, before turning back to Maria, “So if you’re planning to stay the night, make sure to bring earplugs. Sometimes, things on the star-spangled floor get loud.”

“I suppose they would,” Bucky quips back sweetly. “Especially if she decides to sleep with her ear pressed against the wall like _some_ people.”

“Barnes, you and I both know that if there's one thing Rogers never learned, it's how to keep his mouth shut,” Natasha retorts, and Bucky reluctantly gives her an agreeing nod, because yeah, fair enough.

“You could gag him,” Darcy suggests, in a way that's far too innocent and casual, considering what – and _whom_ – they're discussing here. Normally, discussing his and Steve’s sex life with other people isn’t exactly something Bucky would never have done in the past, and certainly hasn’t done  these days. But as the women are clearly comfortable with the subject, and even seem happy about carrying on the spicy banter, he soldiers on.

“I tried,” he therefore grumbles out in reply, and when the entire group raises expectant eyebrows at him in response, he adds, “Didn’t work.”

“Really?” Nat asks. “Why not?”

“Let's just say I now have a hole in my leather belt that wasn't there three weeks ago,” Bucky replies, as casually as he can, feeling his ears burn hot even as he says it. By the time he realizes that this might be more information than what might seem necessary to share, his mouth is already working on a second sentence, and he ends up adding, a bit sullenly, “Damn jerk bit right through…”

For a moment, he's convinced that he's overdone it. The circle grows quiet, for a split second longer than what Bucky would have interpreted as a normal pause, as they all stare at him, wide-eyed. He’s just about to open his mouth and splutter out an apology for being so crude when suddenly Maria snorts out a giggled laugh from behind her hand. Then, Darcy starts laughing too, and soon after, all the women in the room are laughing and offering up different suggestions on how to best utilize Steve’s apparent jaw strength, every solution growing more exaggerated and ridiculous than the one prior.

Immediately, the tension in Bucky’s body drains away as he realizes that, yes, for _him_ to come off as crude isn’t something he’ll have to worry about with this group. Man, suddenly he actually wishes that the Howlies _could_ have been here to witness this. There’s such a familiar pace to it, a rhythm of back and forth that Bucky so far hasn’t been able to get right with anyone other than Steve. To find that it’s _here_ , out of all places, where that familiarity finally manages to make its way back into his life, almost seems poetically fitting.

He grimaces, albeit still laughing at the mental image, when Darcy suggests that perhaps Bucky should go buy a bridle – the kind you have for horses – for Steve to use the next time the two of them want to get some action. He’s just about to open his mouth to ask her whether he should get a riding crop too while he’s at it, when Nat interrupts him by clapping her hands together loudly, picking for attention.

“Alright, class,” she announces, still smiling. ‘Let's save the juicier gossip for break time, shall we? It's time to put those pelvic muscles to good use.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

 

It takes Bucky another one-and-a-half weeks to mention to Steve that he’s taking dance classes. And when it’s finally brought up, it’s  _ Steve _ who mentions it first.

“So, are you heading to the studio tonight?” he asks, right there in the middle of breakfast, and Bucky freezes with his fork of over-easy eggs halfway to his mouth.

“Studio?” he echoes dumbly, and Steve shoots him an amused glance over the top of the morning paper in his hands.

“What, you didn’t think I knew?” he asks amusedly. 

“No, I… I just didn’t think you were interested,” Bucky lies, and Steve sighs as he slowly folds the newspaper in half to put it down next to his plate.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s the play you’re gonna make?”

Bucky groans and lowers his fork down onto his plate with a soft clatter, before dragging his palms up over his face. “Sorry,” he grumbles. “I was gonna mention it.”

“Hey, it's not as if I mind,” Steve says with a concerned frown. “Bucky, we’ve been over this; you don’t have to ask me permission to do stuff. You know that.”

Bucky drops his hands back onto the tabletop with a sigh. “I know. I just… I thought you’d think it was dumb.”

“Why would I think that?” Steve objects with an endearing smile. “It’s dancing. You love dancing. Always have.”

“I have,” Bucky admits. “I  _ do. _ ” He looks at Steve while leaning back into his seat, and then he tips his head back to look up at the ceiling with a contemplative purse of his lips as he adds, under his breath, “Never thought I’d get to do it again, though.”

“Yeah…” Steve says slowly. “To be perfectly honest, there were a lot of things neither of us thought we’d be able to do again.”

“Don’t turn sappy on me, Rogers,” Bucky reprimands fondly. “Can’t a man throw his own pity-party just once without you turning it into a touchy-feely moment?”

“No,” Steve responds flatly, and Bucky snorts.

“Figures.”

“But I suppose if you don’t want me to talk about how much I love you, then I guess I can switch topics,” Steve offers politely while simultaneously reaching for his coffee. “So go ahead, tell me more of this dance class of yours. What kind of dancing do you guys do? I tried to ask Nat about it before, but she wouldn’t tell me. Made it sounds as if it might as well be some kind of secret society or something.”

“Yeah, it’s actually an undercover Hydra operation,” Bucky jokes. “We’re planning to overthrow Manhattan through musical performances and that Youtube-thing where you dance in malls and stuff without people knowing about it.”

“They’re called flash mobs,” Steve supplies. “And yes, the only reason I know what that is because me and Clint got caught in the middle of one on Christmas three years ago in Manhattan Mall. It was horrible. Don’t ask.”

“Oh, you know I’m gonna,” Bucky says, wide-eyed. “The fact that this is the first time I’ve heard of this story must mean it was something terribly embarrassing.”

“Yeah, but we’re talking about  _ your  _ dancing now, aren’t we?” Steve counters with a stubborn resolve that Bucky knows all-too-well that it’s useless to argue against. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Well, it’s… I mean, we do a little bit of everything,” Bucky says while trying not to sound as evasive as he feels. “Mostly modern stuff.”

“No Jitterbug?”

“No Jitterbug,” Bucky confirms, making Steve laugh.

“Well, I’m glad you found something you enjoy,” he says earnestly. He pauses to send Bucky a long, observing look from across the table. “You’ve seemed a lot happier lately.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow at that, but Steve still takes his time taking a deep swig out of his coffee mug, before speaking again. “I especially appreciate the way you’ve begun to sway your hips while you cook,” he muses.

As Bucky responds by aiming a kick at Steve’s shin underneath the table, Steve snorts out a laugh as he shoves his chair back to get out of the way.

“I’m serious!” he defends himself, snickering. “I like it. It’s sexy.”

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbles. He reaches for his fork and promptly shovels another load of eggs into his mouth. 

“What’s that song you were singing the other day when you made dinner?” Steve continues, ignoring him. “Something about me making you crazy, was it?”

“It was Beyonce,” Bucky supplies dryly. “We played it in class last weekend and it got stuck in my head. And for the record, what makes you so sure I was singing about  _ you? _ ”

“Well, who else would you be singing about?” Steve asks with a smug grin. “You got yourself another sweetheart I don’t know about?”

“Sure I do,” Bucky retorts sarcastically, watching Steve slowly rise out of his chair with a playful smile. “He’s big, blond, and dumb as a post when he gets excited. But he’s cute, so I still let him have his way with me every now and then.”

“Is that so?” Steve hums as he rounds the breakfast table with a suggestive drag of his fingertips against the tabletop.

“Indeed it is,” Bucky replies, just as calmly, even though his heart skips a beat when Steve comes to a halt right in front of his chair.

“Then tell me,” Steve drawls, and Bucky slowly pushes his chair out from the table when Steve gives the leg of it a pointed tap with his foot. “This secret lover of yours, does  _ he  _ know how to dance?”

“Are you kidding?” Bucky says with a snort, trying to sound unaffected even though he shifts in his seat as Steve places a hand on either side of his head to brace himself against the back of the chair. “Damn punk was born with two left feet, and then some.”

“That sounds awful,” Steve purrs. Bucky’s breath stutters as Steve casually moves to straddle his thighs, chair and all, before slowly sinking down onto his lap. Then, he wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, smirking at him. “Dancing with him can’t be easy.”

“It’s not,” Bucky agrees hoarsely, at the same time as he brings both his hands up to place them on Steve’s waist through his t-shirt, squeezing a little. “In fact, it’s excruciating.”

“Poor Buck,” Steve murmurs as he leans in to nip at Bucky’s left earlobe, and Bucky tightens his grip around Steve’s hips with a low moan. Steve laughs. “Is he good in bed, at least?” he asks.

“He is,” Bucky breathes. He tips his head back when Steve begins to nose along his jawline, and when Steve’s teeth drags over his pulsepoint, Bucky groans low in his throat. “He’s the best…”

This time, Steve doesn’t answer. He just chuckles – a dirty little sound that Bucky’s fairly certain he’s the only one who’s ever been privileged enough to hear – and then Steve is kissing him on the lips and humming eagerly into his mouth. As the kiss deepens, Steve uses his hold around Bucky’s neck to slowly grind his ass down over Bucky's lap, and Bucky moans as the tantalizing pressure begins to stir his cock to life.  

It doesn’t take long before they’ve set a pace; hips rolling in a slow dirty circles as they rock back and forth in a way that sets fire to Bucky’s veins. Steve’s hands are in his hair now, carding through it with fingernails scraping against his scalp and provoking shivers with every other touch. Bucky’s own hands are firmly grasping around the curve of Steve’s ass to keep the rhythm steady; torturously slow and agonizingly good, all at once.

God, Bucky loves Steve like this. Playful and assertive, ready to take what he wants with tender, loving hands, as long as Bucky’s willing to give it. So far, Bucky’s never wanted to tell him no. Not that he ever could deny Steve anything. 

When Steve drops his right hand to splay his palm against the center of Bucky’s heaving chest, Bucky trembles, and he both hears and feels Steve chuckle into the kiss.

“You want it?” Steve murmurs against Bucky’s lower lip, nipping at it with his teeth, and Bucky bites back a groan as he digs his fingers into the firm muscle of Steve’s ass.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Just go slow…”

“You want me to tease you?” Steve purrs, and when Bucky pulls back from the kiss enough to nod, Steve slides his fingers underneath the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt to drag them up his abs and chest in a provocative tickle. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes again, while arching into the touch with a gasp. 

“Mhm, I know,” Steve mouths against Bucky’s jaw, moving down to his neck. “You’ve always liked that.” 

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth when Steve nips at his earlobe – on the right side, this time – and his hips thrust up against the firm pressure of Steve’s body when Steve’s fingers find his left nipple. He groans when Steve rolls the nub with the pad of his thumb, before pinching it lightly. Then, Bucky’s entire body turns into a quivering mess as Steve begins to rub feathery light circles over the peaking skin; the slow and calculated movements coaxing a whine from Bucky’s throat.

Bucky can feel the stiff jab of Steve’s erection press in against his stomach through Steve's sweatpants when the roll of Steve’s hips picks up pace, but he can’t gather himself enough to actually reach down and touch it. As always, Steve has somehow managed to steal the capacity to think right out of his brain, teasing fingers slowly driving him crazy, and all Bucky can do is hold on for the ride and chase that mind-numbing pleasure he knows awaits him on the other end of this. 

Luckily for them both, however, Steve appears to still be on the right side of excited to know what needs to be done, and Bucky growls in a mix of relief and impatience when he feels Steve tug at the zipper of his jeans. Steve answers with a low huff against Bucky’s neck that could mean just about anything in this situation, but Bucky decides to take it as a positive response when he sees Steve use his other hand to shove down the waistband of his own sweatpants and underwear with a relieved moan.

When Bucky finally feels Steve’s hand wrap around the shaft of his cock, he closes his eyes and tips his head back with a sigh, only to gasp and groan when Steve shifts his grip to grab around them both. The wet slide of Steve’s cock head rubbing up against his own sparks a lust so raw in Bucky’s gut, he can barely stand it. They’re both moving now, rocking together within the firm tunnel of Steve’s fist as Bucky keeps kneading over Steve’s back, hips, and ass, to keep the rhythm just where it is. He wants this slow. He wants to feel the pleasure lap against his nerves until it swallows him up completely, with Steve right there alongside him.

Steve is still peppering Bucky’s neck with kisses, slowly moving higher until Bucky feels lips tease at the corner of his mouth. Bucky opens up, eagerly, and with a moan that sounds mindlessly desperate to his own ears. Steve evidently likes it, as he immediately deepens the kiss with a feral noise of his own, and Bucky mewls breathlessly when Steve moves his other hand from around Bucky's neck to tweak at his nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Jesus, Stevie,”  Bucky pants in between the hot presses of Steve’s lips. “Jesus, fuck…”  

“I’m close,” Steve replies, gasping and rocking down harder. “I’m so close, Buck…”

“Wait,” Bucky begs. “Please, not yet. Not yet, I wanna—” 

Steve groans, stilling even as he shakes his head, and Bucky whines when the strokes of Steve’s hand over his skin comes to an abrupt halt.

“ _ Please _ , Steve,” he whimpers. “Just a little more. Just a  _ little more… _ ”

This time, Steve nods while gritting his teeth with a hiss. Bucky feels Steve’s fingers tighten around both of their cocks, just for a brief moment.

“God, I love you,” Steve whispers. He rolls his hips – slowly,  _ filthy _ – and Bucky’s limbs give a spasm so violent, he has to clasp a hand around the side of Steve’s neck just to steady himself. 

“You there yet?” Steve prompts through clenched teeth as he slowly begins to stroke them again. “You with me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky pants, the heat in his limbs surging. “Oh, fuck, yeah, I’m right there…”

“Now?” Steve pleads, almost a whine.  Bucky’s hips stutter when Steve’s palm drags over the head of their cocks, pressing them together tight. “Oh, please, Bucky, say now, I— I can’t hold off for much longer…”

“I know,” Bucky replies while tightening his grip around Steve’s neck. “I know, I know… Oh, sweetheart, you’re killing me, I’m so  _ fucking _ close.”

Steve makes a ragged noise against Bucky’s mouth that makes the hairs on Bucky’s arm stand straight up, and then Steve begins to rub the pad of his thumb over the head of Bucky’s cock. Slow at first, going faster and faster, pumping his hips and hand to match the pace. 

“Yeah, make me come,” Bucky whispers, voice trembling. “That's it, don't stop… Oh god, Steve, don't fucking st—”

Bucky gasps, the final word only partial on his lips, but it morphs into a dirty moan that he buries in the crook of Steve’s neck as he spills, hot and pulsing over Steve’s fist and his own chest.

The sound of Steve’s orgasm reaches his ears before his own has even had time to peak, and Bucky’s head soars as he feels the splattered heat of Steve’s orgasm as it too hits the front of his shirt in thick, white ropes.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, just rocking against each other and breathing each other in, but he also doesn’t really care. As far as he’s concerned, he could stay like this forever – soiled clothes be damned – as long as Steve stays there with him. Which is also why he lets out a low, warning growl when Steve begins to stand, but apparently, his murderous charm must have lost it’s once so efficient edge, because Steve simply laughs and gets off of his lap anyway. 

“You know, for what it’s worth,” Steve says, smiling at him as he makes his way to the kitchen sink, “you’re still the same incorrigible cuddle-monster that you were back when we first got together.”

“And you still always manage to make a mess out of every possible situation,” Bucky counters, pulling at the hem of his shirt to look down at the stains seeping into the fabric. 

“Are you saying you liked it better when it was blood from my nose and split lips all over your clothes?” Steve asks smugly, and Bucky rolls his eyes, before carefully starting to peel his shirt over the top of his head. Once he’s successfully managed to rid himself of the ruined garment, Steve is already holding out a bundle of crumpled paper towels for him to clean off with. Bucky accepts them, and goes to work on taking care of the lingering mess that’s still stuck to his softening cock.

It’s not until he’s done and looks back up again that he realizes that Steve’s staring at his chest while biting his bottom lip.

“No,” Bucky declares firmly. “You have a job to get to, and I have errands to run.”

“Job can wait a few minutes,” Steve tries to argue.

“Oh, I’m sure you think it can,” Bucky retorts, “but you were visiting a children’s hospital today, right? Are you sure  _ they  _ can wait?”

The argument is effective, and Steve’s face immediately drops as he slumps his shoulders.

“You’re right,” he says. He sends a final, longing glance at Bucky’s naked chest, and then shakes his head, groaning. “But you’re not playing fair.”

“All's fair in love and war, sweetheart,” Bucky retorts sweetly.

“Yeah, I remember you saying that back in Paris as well,” Steve mutters as he straightens out his own clothes. “Funny how you always wanna apply that rule when  _ you’re  _ the one dealing the cards.”

“Not funny,” Bucky corrects, “ _ clever. _ And don’t you try to act as if me playing dirty doesn’t turn you on, because I know it does.”

“You’ve corrupted me,” Steve hums, leaning over the table and their half-eaten breakfast to kiss Bucky on the lips. “Lucky for you, I kinda like it.”

“Of course you do,” Bucky hums back, before giving Steve’s left asscheek an affectionate slap. “Now go strap on the stars and stripes, tough guy. Can’t keep the little kiddies waiting.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“Okay, but, look here,” Bucky says, gesturing to the screen of his phone again to show what he means. “That move there, with the arms. If we do that, twice, and then go into the bend-and-snap, before dropping low—”

“Wait,  _ how  _ low are we dropping, exactly?” Maria asks. “All the way down, or just, like, a little  _ bop _ -sorta thing?”

“Well… the goal is all the way, I think?” Bucky says hesitantly. 

“In heels?” Maria counters. “Seriously, I’m gonna end up falling and stabbing someone’s eye out.”

“No, you won’t,” Natasha declares while snatching the phone out of Bucky’s hand. “All it takes is some practice.”

“I’m more concerned about the bend-and-snap, to be honest,” Jane says. “We better be properly warmed up for that, or we’ll end up pulling something.”

“We don’t  _ have  _ to do it,” Bucky says quietly. “It was just a suggestion.”

“Oh, we’re doing it,” Darcy says firmly. “ _ I’m  _ gonna do it, at least. That choreography is  _ awesome. _ ”

“Of course it is,” Maria argues. “Those guys are professional dancers. We can’t move like they do.”

“Sure we can,” Darcy objects, and before Maria can say anything else, Darcy raises a finger, silencing her as she continues, “The only difference between them and us is that they’ve had more hours to practice. That’s all there’s to it. Practice.”

“And it’s not as if I’m saying we’re gonna do it all right off the bat,” Bucky clarifies, grateful for Darcy’s support. “We’ll break it up into sections, just like you did with the other routine.”

“I like it,” Wanda chimes in with that soothing voice of hers. “It’s a nice dance, and it’s a good way for us to step up our routine. After all, the steps aren’t all that difficult, they’re just… snappy.” 

“But aren’t they a little, I don’t know… Too… provocative?” Pepper asks without looking up from the video that’s still playing on the phone in Nat’s hand.

“I think that’s sort of the point,” Darcy says. “I mean, look at that sass,” she continues, pointing to the screen. “Doesn’t it make you wish you had that attitude? To move like that just because you  _ can? _ ”

“Yes,” Bucky decides, and over half of the group nods in silent agreement. Maria and Pepper still look doubtful, and Bucky carefully licks his lips as he gently plucks the phone out of Natasha’s hands.

“Listen, nobody has to do the dance unless they want to,” he says. “I just wanted to bring it up as a suggestion since you guys were talking about doing something new last time.”

“It’s a good suggestion, Bucky” Wanda promises, and Bucky smiles as he feels the comforting weight of her hand settle on his shoulder. “Really.”

“Maybe we could pick a different song?” Jane suggests. “One that isn't as fast paced? Who knows, it might even help make the moves less provocative and more… sensuous?”

“Oh, I didn't mean that I dislike the provocative style,” Pepper promises. “It's just that I think, when you do something for the first time, it's easier to just do the thing first and deal with the whole pasazz afterwards.”

“Isn't dancing supposed to be all about passion, and expressing feelings and whatnot?” Darcy asks.

“Not always,” Nat says contemplative. “Sometimes it's actually better to do it the way Pepper says. It depends on why you're dancing in the first place.”

“So?” Bucky prompts. “Which one is it?”

“What do you mean?” Nat asks, confused.

“I mean why did you guys wanna do this to begin with?” Bucky clarifies. “Is it all for fun and games? Or are we aspiring to become professionals here?”

“I think it's safe to say that considering what some of us do for a living, becoming a full time dancer is pretty much off the cards,” Wanda says. Her statement is followed by agreeing nods from both Nat, Pepper, and Maria.

“Well, I ain't no superhero,” Darcy declares firmly, “And I've seen my fair share of romantic dance movies, and trust me, that kind of self-torment ain't really my kind of thing.”

“So we agree on that one then?” Bucky prompts. “This is for fun? Amature dancing group for dummies?”

“Pretty much,” Jane agrees.

“Well…” Pepper says hesitantly, and instantly, all eyes in the room turn on her.

“Well, what?” Jane asks. Pepper looks down at her feet, squirming a little.

“I mean, it’s not like I’ve promised anything,” she defends herself, “I just said I’d bring it up with you guys the next time we met.”

“Bring up  _ what? _ ” Bucky says slowly, and Pepper’s gaze flits around the group, before she straightens up with a deep breath.

“Tony wants us to dance at his charity event in June.”

_ “What?” _ Darcy and Maria say in unison, although, with entirely different tones of voice.

“Again, I’ve promised him  _ nothing, _ ” Pepper says firmly. “But he was very enthusiastic about it. He’s convinced that it would be a great and unique choice of entertainment.”

“Yeah, like a _ clown show _ ,” Maria says, sounding appalled by the thought alone. “No offense, but I happen to know what Tony’s events usually look like, and I am  _ not  _ making a fool of myself on stage in front of five hundred people.”

“Seconded,” Jane says firmly, raising her hand, and by her side, Darcy lets out an exasperated groan.

“Oh,  _ c’mon _ , guys,” she exclaims. “This is like the most awesome thing! We could make an awesome routine, with  _ props _ , and we’d get to have costumes on and everything.” 

“Tony’s promised that if we say yes, he’ll provide us with everything we need,” Pepper says. “And like Darcy says, we’ll have a proper stage, with lights, and any decor we want. We’ll be given full artistic freedom, as long as, and this is a direct quote: ‘ _ people will remember it’. _ ”

“Does Tony know what kind of dancing we do?” Wanda asks warily. “I mean, a charity event might not be the right place for choreography stolen from YouTube.”

“Actually, I asked him the same thing,” Pepper says.

“And?” Natasha prompts.

“And,” Pepper continues, “he thought it was perfect.”

“Just like that?” Maria asks.

“Yeah.” Pepper shrugs. “I mean, with the theme of the event, I guess having Black Widow & Co dancing on stage will be pretty fitting no matter what we do.”

“What  _ is  _ the theme of the event?” Bucky asks. He knows that Tony’s already managed to rope Steve into it somehow, but Steve rarely talks about work while at home, and Bucky hasn’t had the presence of mind to ask about it. 

“Women’s rights,” Pepper says, and across the room, Maria raises her eyebrows.

“Women’s rights?” she echoes. “Tony Stark is holding a charity event exclusively for the benefit of women?”

“Well, technically, it’s ‘Equal Opportunities’, but yes,” Pepper says. She frowns at Maria. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Nothing,” Maria says quickly. “It’s just… I hadn’t pegged him for the type.”

“Because he’s a renowned playboy who likes to sleep around?” Pepper asks testily. “In case you haven’t noticed, he’s been off the market for quite some time now.”

“Hey, hey,” Bucky says while holding a metal hand up in between them. “I’m sure that’s not what she meant at all. Right, Maria?”

“Of course not,” Maria says earnestly. “I just expected a charity for science, or gadgets, or… you know…  _ Stark  _ stuff. I’m sorry if it came out sounding like something else,” she says towards Pepper, “that wasn’t my intention.”

Slowly, the tension drains away from Pepper’s shoulders, and she sighs, shaking her head. “No,” she says. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve gotten that question from the press so many times, with all kinds of insinuations, it sets me on edge every time.”

“Understandable,” Darcy says wisely. “And paparazzi are a special kind of scum.”

“And stupid,” Pepper says with a twitch of her lip. “It’s been nearly six months, and they still haven’t figured out that Tony has a low-range EMP device in his watch that takes out all of their fancy stalking-tech the moment they get too personal. Which is always.”

“That’s clever,” Bucky says. “You think he can get me one of those too?”

“You get stalked by paparazzi?” Wanda asks worriedly, but Bucky just shakes his head, smiling. 

“No, but every time Steve opens his mouth in public, he’s always less than half a sentence away from turning into an international headline, which means disaster. Would be nice to have a fail-safe for that.”

“You’re being too mean to him,” Wanda says, even though she smiles while doing so.

“I am not being mean,” Bucky argues. “Trust me, once you’ve hauled his flailing ass out of a thousand fist-fights caused by that flapping yap of his, you’ll understand what I mean.”  

“Okay, but, what exactly is it Stark expects us to do?” Jane asks, bringing the conversation back to its original topic. “Like we just established, we’re not professional dancers, nor do we want to be. He must understand that there’s a limit to what we can do.”

“Oh, he does,” Pepper says. “Trust me, I’ve already made that very clear.”

“And?” Maria asks.

“He thinks it’s great.” Pepper throws her arms out to the side. “ _ Perfect is boring anyway, _ he said.” 

“So he wants us to do a half-assed job?” Darcy argues with an offended frown.

“Technically, it’s not a job, because we’d be doing it for free,” Pepper reasons. “And not half-assed; we’re still going to do our best, of course. And the better we make it, the better for the charity.” She looks around the group. “It’s just an offer. We don’t have to say yes.”

Bucky follows her gaze as it moves from one member of the group to another. Nat, Darcy, and Wanda all look as if they’d be willing to at least consider it, while Jane looks more hesitant. Maria, on the other hand, looks as if she’d rather swallow a wasp’s nest. As for Bucky, he’s not sure how he feels about it. At the moment, the only one who knows he's taking dance classes is Steve. The leap from there to performing for a full house – with media coverage, most likely – is a pretty big, and a  _ very _ intimidating one.

“Look, maybe we won’t have to decide this right now?” he suggests warily. “How about we all take some time to think about it first, and we could bring it up again later. Next week, maybe?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Natasha agrees, and Bucky nods. Then, he holds his phone up, and gives it a light wave. “Now. About that new routine…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

 

The weekend arrives, yet on Friday evening, Bucky still doesn’t know how to feel about the offer to perform at Tony’s charity event.

On one hand, he’s mostly convinced that doing so would actually be fun. Back in the good old days when you went out dancing, it was sort of implied that you’d have people looking at you. It had been part of the style; to clear the dance floor to let the couples take turn to show off their dancing skills – or to just fool around a little, it wasn’t all that important. Bucky is aware that a lot about dancing has changed since he was last out and about, but surely the joy of dancing must be there for people still? Why else would they still be doing it?

Then, on the other hand… It might not be the same at all, and he’ll risk losing this passion of his long before he even gets to indulge in it properly. He understands Maria’s hesitation, he really does. Crowds still intimidate him, even though it’s gotten better, and the thought of standing there, as Maria had said, in front of half a thousand people, staring at him… It makes his stomach flip – and not in a good way.

But, he’d still be willing to give it a try, if only to challenge himself. As long as he doesn’t have to do it alone. And if the others let him… 

The event is all about women’s rights, and both Nat and Pepper had told him that Tony knew nothing yet about Bucky being part of the dance class. So Bucky’s sure that when Tony had suggested that they perform at the event, he had most likely envisioned an entire number with beautiful, strong, capable women to represent his cause.  _ Without _ Bucky. Of course, Bucky will dance if the ladies want him to, but he’ll be just as willing to sit this one out, should they want to do it themselves.

The event should be focused on them, after all.

A few well-formulated questions to Steve has revealed that the project will address a number of issues regarding the way women are treated in the world nowadays, in comparison to their male counterparts. Some of them seem to have Steve puzzled, seeing as he, much like Bucky, had been brought up in a time were these things were not considered issues at all. At least not by the men, which honestly makes Bucky question whether there actually  _ had _ been issues, only that he and Steve never got to hear about them because they weren’t women.

Bucky doesn’t blame Steve for the confusion. He himself have just recently been introduced to the basics of the various struggles that pave the road of women’s everyday lives. To be fair, it would be pretty biased of him to claim any sort of expertize on the subject.

He’s grateful for it, though. Spending time with Nat and the other ladies has opened up a whole new world to him that he hadn’t even been aware existed before. A world of catcalling, ridiculously expensive, yet highly vital hygiene products, fake pockets, bonding over conversations in the ladies room that would have been unquestionably inappropriate anywhere else, unfair wages, prejudice and condescension, inconsistent clothing sizes, the mortal nemesis named  _ winged eyeliner…  _ The list could go on forever. 

And the more he learns, the more Bucky notices proof of these things in society around him. The absurdly sexualized commercials on TV. Plain old grocery products suddenly advertised ‘for men’, as if men suddenly, for some reason, has collectively decided that they can’t eat the same food, or drink the same drinks as women do anymore. 

More often than not he catches himself thinking, or doing things that he’s been convinced only belonged in the stories told by the women during dance class break time. Things which, the more he thinks of them, he’s pretty sure his ma would have him dragged inside by the ear if she’d ever heard them leave his mouth. And that was way back in 1925.

The ever-recurring realization that Steve and he had grown up in one of the absolute most women-degrading societies  _ ever _ , desperately makes him wants to do so much better. He wants to prove to his new friends that he’s not the kind of guy that they keep telling him these horrifying stories about. He doesn’t want them to think that he looks down on them in any way; that he – as a matter of fact – actually admires them more for every little detail they tell him about themselves. That he’s grateful for every secret, every triviality that helps him better understand what they go through every day.

And sure, James Buchanan Barnes may not be completely gone, but he’s been through enough, and been so eroded away from Hydra’s recurring abuse, that in Bucky’s opinion, the guy’s really due for a make-over anyway.

When in Rome, and all that.

So when it’s time for dance class, Bucky’s realizes that he’s already made up his mind. He wants to do this with them, and he really, really hopes that they’ll let him. For the old  _ and  _ new Bucky’s sake.

The moment he steps through the doors of the studio, however, his determined thoughts are immediately replaced by guilt as he realizes that there’s one more participant present for this class than he’s used to. Sharon is standing in the middle of the room, cheerfully conversing with Nat. As he sees her, Bucky realizes that in the six classes he’s attended so far, Sharon’s been absent from every single one but the very first. And Bucky hadn’t even noticed.

He’s not really sure where he stands with Sharon, to be truthful. The rest of the women – including Maria – have all warmed up to him since he came to dance with them regularly. Now, seeing Sharon here, he feels like he’s right back to square one again. They’re not on bad terms, per se; Sharon’s visited the tower more than once, both for professional and personal reasons. Steve likes her, and even though Bucky still likes to rib Steve for the kiss they’d shared that one time, he doesn’t hold any grudges against either of them for it. Sharon’s proven, more than once, that she’s a reliable friend. And friends are something Bucky’s not about to scoff at.

When Nat goes to check on the stereo, Bucky slowly sidles up to Sharon and clearis his throat a little to announce his presence. When she turns around, she appears a bit taken aback to see him, but she still smiles brightly at him as she shakes her hair out of her eyes to casually tuck the strands behind her left ear.

“Hey,” she says cheerfully, and Bucky replies with a low, “Hi.”

“So you’re back, huh?” Sharon asks, and Bucky nods.

“Yup,” he says. “Never left, really.”

“Oh, so you’re taking the classes with us now?” she asks excitedly. “That’s great! How do you like it so far?”

“It’s fun,” Bucky admits. “Although, the heels were a bit of a surprise.”

“Oh, my god, they made you wear the heels?” Sharon says with a laugh, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Only the first time,” Bucky replies, before adding, on a whim, “The other times I put them on myself.”

Sharon blinks, and Bucky bites his lip while shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweatpants to keep them from fidgeting. He figures he might as well come clean about the shoes from the start, seeing as she’s bound to find out anyway. He waits for her to ask him questions about it, although, he’s not entirely sure what kind of questions he’s expecting. But all she does is smile and nod, as if she’s pleased that he approves of the group’s choice of footwear.

“So, how you’ve been?” Bucky asks. “You’ve been gone for almost a month. Have you been sick?”

“Oh, no,” Sharon says, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ve been out of the country. Government business.”

“Ah,” Bucky says while nodding knowingly. “Top-secret business too, I assume?”

“Yeah, well, ” Sharon says conspiringly as she gives him a one-eyed wink, “I’m really not at liberty to say.”

As simple as the joke is, it still makes Bucky snort out a laugh and shake his head at it.  

“So what have you guys been up to while I was gone?” Sharon asks. “Any new, fancy moves I should know about?”

“Actually, we started plotting out a new routine just the other day,” Bucky says. “I found some videos online that I thought could work as inspiration.”

“You did?” Sharon arches her eyebrows, and Bucky nods.

“Yup,” he says again with a pop of his lips. “Guess this whole dancing thing got to me.”

“That’s great,” Sharon says. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. You look very comfortable in this setting, by the way,” she adds, gesturing to his loose, grey sweatpants and black tank top featuring the words, ‘Saints wear Black’, in white scripted letters.

“Thanks,” he mumbles while sternly telling himself that he’s  _ not  _ blushing,  _ again. _ Seriously, his face needs to get a grip. “I  _ feel _ comfortable, actually. It’s a bit of an… adjustment.”

“Well, it suits you,” Sharon decides. “And it’s nice to see you smile. For a while there, I didn't think you knew how.”

“You know, everyone says that,” Bucky says with feigned surprise. “My ordinary expression must look pretty grim.”

“You do have a little bit of a ‘stay clear’ vibe going on, normally,” Sharon admits. “But don’t worry about it. I’ve been told I have a pretty nasty stare myself.”

“Just like your high kicks,” Bucky says, and to his relief, Sharon actually laughs a little, ducking her head,

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” she agrees. She glances up at him. “I try not to use either on my friends, though.”

Bucky’s lip twitches up in a smile, and this time it’s he who ducks his head, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck before he can stop it.

“Yeah, about that…” he says slowly. “I guess… I mean, we’ve never really talked about that, have we? I— I’ve been meaning to say sorry, but, you know… time, place, and all that.”

“Hey,” Sharon says softly, and when Bucky looks up she’s looking right at him with an expression on her face that reminds Bucky so much of Peggy, his heart gives a hard clench of loss inside his chest. “There are no hard feelings about that, alright,” she says. “At least not from me.”

“That’s pretty gracious of you,” Bucky murmurs. “I mean… the last time we were this close in the same room together, I used you to break a table.”

“No, you didn’t,” Sharon says, shaking her head. “Steve explained it to me. I know that wasn’t really you.”

“It was, though,” Bucky argues. “Or, at least a part of me.” 

“Doesn’t matter. I still don’t blame you.”

“And I’m still sorry,” Bucky counters. Sharon snorts out a laugh, closing her eyes.

“I see how the two of you get along so well,” she says, and Bucky doesn’t need to ask who’s she’s talking about. “You’re both equally as stubborn.” 

“Guess we are,” Bucky agrees. He reaches his hand out. “Still friends?”

Sharon looks at his hand. For a split second, Bucky’s heart ices over as the thought that she might not accept it flashes through his mind. Then, Sharon steps forward, and half-a-second later, Bucky finds himself with both her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders in a heartfelt hug.

It catches him off guard. For a moment, he just stands there with his arms hanging limp by his side, before his wits finally kick back into gear, and he tentatively hugs her back. She feels so small in his arms; limbs too frail and delicate beneath the weight of his hands, for a split second it makes him feel as if he’s going to throw up. A flashing recollection of those same limbs being twisted and crushed in his grip actually makes him move to step back, but Sharon doesn’t let him. She simply tightens her arms around him, suddenly far stronger than her frame lets on, and the nauseous twist in Bucky’s stomach immediately stills.

It all lasts less than ten seconds, but when Sharon lets him go, Bucky feels lighter. Like he’s made out of helium. Sharon smiles at him, and this time, the clench in his heart is not caused by a memory of friends long gone, but the realisation that he might actually have been given new ones, at long last.

“All right, people,” Nat calls out. “Before we get started, I have something I’d like to discuss.” She waits patiently until everyone’s gathered in front of the room’s big mirror, before taking a deep breath. “So, I think you all should know that I’ve talked to Tony about the benefit.”

“You  _ what? _ ” Maria chokes out, but Natasha holds both of her hands up, requesting silence.

“Only to gather information,” she assures them. “I want to know exactly where I have that man before I accept any offer from him. No offense, Pep.”

“None taken,” Pepper responds with a nod. “I can empathize.”

“So what do you think?” Bucky asks, and as Nat looks at him, she bites down on her lower lip for a moment before speaking again.

“I think we should do it,” she announces sincerely. 

“Hold on,” Sharon says. “What are you guys talking about? What benefit?”

“Stark is holding a charity event to highlight women and equal opportunities,” Bucky explains in a low murmur. “He wants the dance group to perform on stage, as a crowd raiser.”

“That’s actually pretty clever,” Sharon whispers back.

“Stark may be a wise-ass, but he knows how to run a successful business,” Bucky admits.

“It actually sounds like fun,” Sharon mumbles, and her face lights up with an amused smile when Bucky turns to stare at her in surprise. “I used to be a cheerleader once, you know. There was something about performing in front of a crowd that made it all worth it. Do we have any ideas on what kind of dance we’d like to do?”

She directs the last part to the entire group, upon which Jane lets out another choked noise. “We haven’t decided  _ anything _ ,” she objects firmly, hands crossed over her chest.

“You don’t want to do it?” Sharon asks in confusion, and Jane sighs, looking away.

“I didn’t say that,” she objects. “It’s just that performing in front of a crowd like that is a pretty big step. To be honest, just thinking about it scares me half to death. To be alone in front of all those people…”

“But you won't be alone,” Pepper objects. “We're all in this together, right?”

“Exactly,” Maria agrees.

“That's easy to say now,” Jane objects with a hapless throw of her hand. “I mean, what if we get up there and it turns out we totally suck?”

“You really think we do?” Bucky objects with a curious brow raised.

“ _ I _ don’t think so, but what if others do? It would turn the entire event into a fiasco, and Tony would be the one to suffer for it. I mean, how are we supposed to pull something like that off? What if we get stage fright? Then what are we supposed to do?”

“The exact same thing we do when we’re here,” Nat says firmly. “There's really no difference.”

“But the audience—” Jane starts.

“You won't even see them,” Nat promises her. “The lights make everything in front of the stage look pitch black. And the music will be so loud, you won't hear anything else either.”

“It's true,” Pepper supplies wisely. “I've had to give a lot of presentations on stage before. Every time they lower the ceiling lights, it feels like it's like I'm suddenly standing there, talking to myself.”

“Jane,” Sharon says softly, stepping forward to give Jane a long, sincere look “You  _ know _ you don't have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I know,” Jane says with a sigh. “But… the thought of  _ not _ doing it makes me feel like I’m missing out on something really important.” She looks at them. “I  _ want _ to be part of this.”

“Then start by saying yes,” Bucky suggests. “And then you dance. That’s all there is to it.”

“C’mon, Jane,” Darcy coaxes. “Let’s bring the house down with this sucker. You took on Thor’s dad for crying out loud! He’s like, supreme god-king, or, you know, something.”

Jane shakes her head, but she smiles as she looks up to meet Darcy’s gaze. Then, she exhales with a heavy sigh, and Bucky watches the tension finally drain away from her posture as she throws her arms out to the side.

“All right then,” she says. “I’m in.”

“Awesome,” Darcy muses victoriously. “So does that mean we’re actually doing this now? I mean, unless anyone has something else they want to mention?”  

Bucky stiffens. He tries not to let it show, but with this many women in the room whose profession it is to spot things people attempt to conceal, he really ought to have known better.

“What?” Natasha asks, and Bucky immediately straightens up as the entire room turns to look at him. 

“I… uh…” He clears his throat as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I was just thinking… With it being a women’s charity and all, maybe you guys’d rather I didn’t, you know…” He leaves the rest of the sentence hanging in the air, and for a moment, everyone looks at him as if he’s just spoken a foreign language. Then, Darcy’s palm creates a deft metallic thunk as she slaps it hard against his left shoulder.

“What are you talking about, you big doof?” she demands. “We’re all dancing.  _ Including  _ you.”

“Darcy’s right,” Natasha says. “What kind of example would we set if we kicked the guy with the best natural hip roll off the team, simply because he’s a guy?” 

“Wow,” Bucky says, laughing under his breath. “Laying it on a little thick there, aren’t we?” 

“Not even close,” Darcy promises, beaming up at him from where she’s now casually draped around the metal of his elbow. Like a cat claiming its favorite spot on a couch. 

“You’re that good?” Sharon asks with an amused quirk of her eyebrow. “I mean, you weren’t bad when I saw you that first time, but it sounds to me like you’ve gotten better since then?”

“I try,” Bucky admits modestly.

“Okay, but, if that’s all, then… are we all agreed?” Pepper asks. “Are we doing this?”

“I think we are,” Bucky answers with a smile. He admits that like Jane, he’s not all that fond of the idea of having people stare at him. Then again, ever since he started walking around with his metal arm out and fully visible in public, he’s begun to get used to it. And who knows, being stared at because you’re on a stage might be different than the situations he’s faced so far?

He looks at Jane, who meets his gaze as he continues, just to be sure, “Aren’t we?”

“Looks like it,” she replies. “I mean, worst case scenario, I freak out, and you do the show without me.”

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Sharon says with an amused quirk of her lips. 

“Yeah, hopefully,” Jane agrees. 

“Right,” Natasha announces with a businesslike clap of her hands. “So, I guess that means we better start thinking about ideas? After all, we only have six weeks to get ready.”

“How long is the performance meant to last?” Maria asks Pepper, and Pepper shrugs. 

“We’ve got free reign on this ,” she says. “But I think a full song would be the most natural thing to aim for.”

“Sounds about right,” Wanda agrees. 

“Fast song or slow song?” Maria asks soberly.

“Fast,” Darcy and Pepper say in unison, and Darcy continues, “A slow song will be boring. We want to be fierce and powerful for this, right? Not sultry sexy”

“Nothing wrong with sexy,” Sharon objects. “As long as it’s sexy on our terms.”

“I like the sound of that,” Natasha says as she fires off a smile towards Sharon, who answers it with one of her own.

“So we’re looking for a an average-length, fast song that’s powerful and a bit sexy?” Bucky sums up. “Why does that sound like just about every radio station I’ve heard in the past year?”

“Okay, so how about we decide on style first, then?” Jane says. “We could check out some costume ideas and see if we get inspired?”

“Tony’s promised us access to the New York Theatre Development Fund’s warehouse,” Pepper says. “He’s got a contact who works there, and they have more than eighty thousand different costumes for rent that’ve been donated from theatres and movie studios all over America. Including Broadway and Hollywood.”

“That sounds amazing,” Wanda agrees. 

“We could go tomorrow?” Pepper says. “Or later this weekend. I’ll have Tony set us up with a tour or something.”

“And a map, from the sound of it,” Maria says with a snort. “I mean, I’m not a fashionista or anything, but even  _ I  _ know that it takes one hell of a closet to hold that many outfits.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky says confidently. “When it comes to navigating the insides of closets, I’ve got some pretty extensive first-hand experience…”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

The New York Theatre Development Fund warehouse turns out to be, in Bucky’s opinion, the biggest warehouse-meets-clothing store he’s ever seen. There are clothes  _ everywhere. _ From roof to ceiling, on racks that stretch from one end of the enormous hall to the other. Each row is labeled with the name of an era, or a style, and then arranged by size in men’s and women’s clothing. There are accessories too, sorted in the same fashion; everything from shoes, swords, and jewelry, fake guns, and ridiculously large sun hats with flowers and colorful ribbons attached to the brim.

They’re let inside by Tony’s acquaintance, who turns out to be a lovely lady named Victoria, who’s also the executive director of the entire fund. She reminds them to treat the garments with care and respect, and promises to help them should they have any questions, before setting them loose among the seemingly never-ending rows of clothes. 

Nat and the others immediately spread out to browse through the costumes. Bucky can hear them discussing the details of the garments in hushed, amused voices; exclamations like “Oh, my god, look how cute” and murmured, “Jesus, how much did they pay the poor bastard who had to wear  _ that  _ out in public?” 

Darcy shows him a big, poofy-looking thing from the sixteenth century with gold embroidery and fur trim that she apparently found in the men’s section. She wiggles it suggestively his way, and Bucky rolls his eyes and unceremoniously flips her the bird, making her cackle with glee. 

Bucky turns back to his exploration of the Wild West by pinching a dusty long coat between his thumb and index finger with a skeptic purse of his lips at the seemingly impractical length of it, before moving on. Continuing down the row, he knows that he should be looking at men’s clothing, but for some reason, he finds himself constantly being pulled towards the women’s section of the racks instead. The fabrics are nicer, he thinks as he studies the garments in front of him. Soft where the mens’ are rough, flowy and free where the male equivalent falls flat and constricting. It could be the way the costumes are made as a whole, of course, where the  _ visual  _ feeling is more important than the actual physical one, but there’s something else too. Something far more intimate than the cut and feel of fabric against his skin. Only, he can’t put his finger on what, exactly, that intimacy means. All he knows is that even as he stands there in the center of it all, looking at these garments that are obviously not made for him, he can’t seem to shake the feeling that some of them  _ had been _ , once.

The sentiment grows even stronger as he suddenly finds himself standing in front of a rack labeled ‘1930-1940’, and his gaze immediately draws towards the colorful, printed pattern of the skirts and dresses rather than the earthy tones of the suits. A baby-blue dress, with a white floral pattern and a button-down front catches his attention, and he pulls the skirt out from within the folds of the other clothes to look at it more closely. It’s made of cotton. Thin; obviously meant for summer. It’s nice.

He slowly runs his thumb over the hemline of the skirt. It’s  _ very  _ nice.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” comes Wanda’s voice from over his shoulder, and Bucky lets the garment drop as if it had burned him.

“Yeah,” he says, turning towards a suit that’s located on a hanger on the opposite side of the aisle. “They’re very authentic.”

“Really?” Wanda asks, and Bucky sees her reach out to touch the dress he had just let go of. “So this is what women used to wear back in your day, then?”

“More or less,” Bucky says with a shrug. “That one was probably expensive, though.”

“It must bring back memories,” Wanda prompts with a sideways glance his way. “Seeing all of it lined up like this?”

“In a way,” he admits, still trying to take focus away from the dress by plucking at the dark grey suit in his hands.

“What did you wear?” Wanda asks curiously.

“Me?” Bucky replies.

“Yes,  _ you, _ ” Wanda insists with a laugh, nodding towards the suit. “Something like that?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, chuckling under his breath. “Not anywhere as fancy as this one, though. Suits were for office work, church, and dancing, mostly. On my days off, or when I worked down at the docks, I usually wore normal pants, suspenders, and ordinary shirts.”

“Sounds like you must have looked pretty handsome,” Wanda teases, and Bucky smiles, shrugging again.

“Steve says so, at least,” he admits. “And the dames never complained.”

“Oh, right,” Wanda murmurs, and her smile instantly dies. “Steve told me about that. How you had to—”

“Different times,” Bucky says simply. “Different rules.”

“I’m sorry,” Wanda offers apologetically. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” Bucky assures her with a soothing smile. “Steve and I were okay with it, as far as necessary agreements for our safety went. The girls were all nice, too, and the dancing was great. Even if I would have loved to be able to dance with Steve at least once.”

“Must feel good now, though, doesn’t it?” Wanda prompts with a little smirk. “To finally be able to be together and open about it, after so long?”

“It does,” Bucky says. “Modern society got better in that regard, at least.”

“Different times,” Wanda says, and Bucky nods.

“Different times…” he echoes.

A movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he looks up just in time to see Sharon approach them from down the aisle. She looks happy, and there’s an excited bounce to her steps that makes Bucky’s smile widen even further.

“You two found anything good?” she asks as she comes to a halt next to Wanda to throw a curious glance at Bucky’s suit.

“Not really,” Bucky says. “Just reminiscing about the past.”

“Ah,” Sharon says, glancing at the label of the rack. For a moment, she looks as if she’s going to say something, but then appears to change her mind, and goes for another topic. “So… You haven't found anything for the show then? Do you want us to help you look?”

“Yeah, why not?” Bucky says with a sigh as he turns his head to gaze down the remaining length of the aisle they're in. “I’ll  take all the advice I can get. There are so many styles here that I don't recognize, half of the time I can't even tell the women's clothes apart from the men’s.”

“Guess we better make sure you don't end up in a skirt and stockings, then,” Sharon jokes fondly. Then she looks him up and down, speaking as she turns away, “Then again, with legs like that, stockings would probably look pretty good on you.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh, moving to follow as Sharon and Wanda walk ahead of him down the clothing racks, but then his smile fades, and his step falters.

A black line, straight as an arrow against the back of a muscular calf. Nylon stockings, with the white straps of a garter belt leading up to white, silken underwear stretching over a body that is clearly not female. The hint of movement over a well-built shoulder that is only partially visible within the frame of a mirror as his own reflection stares, wide-eyed and nervous, mouth moving without sound in the incomplete fractions of his own memory.

Bucky staggers as he fumbles blindly for the clothing rack to steady himself as yet another vicious headache threatens to split his brain in half. Images flood his mind; of heeled shoes, stockings, and other, far more feminine things that surely could not have been okay in the setting Bucky is now recalling them. 

It couldn't have been— He  _ couldn't  _ have—! 

“Bucky, are you okay?!”

Through the pain, he feels the cool touch of a hand against his temple, and just like that, Wanda’s right there, standing beside him in front of the mirror inside his head.  _ Seeing him. _ The reflection of her eyes stare back at him, first in confusion, and then in realisation as the echo of Bucky’s memory grows solid around her.

Bucky wants to yell at her to get out, to not look at him. He wants to run, but there’s nowhere to go. As his growing panic begins to warp the scenery inside his mind into a twisted, nightmarish image, Bucky screams.

Suddenly, Wanda’s face shifts into a grimace of pain, and when Bucky blinks, he finds himself standing in the middle of the aisle with Wanda’s wrist caught in the crushing grip of his metal hand.

The world slams back into gear so hard it sends him physically swaying, and he lets go of Wanda’s hand with a choked, wounded noise in the back of his throat. Wanda staggers back, gripping around her wrist to rub at the imprints left behind by Bucky's fingers, but when she looks at him, she doesn't look scared. 

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, as if she's the one who hurt him rather than the other way around. “I thought you needed help, I didn't— I’m so, so sorry.” She swallows hard, and then she reaches a hand out – the same one Bucky had nearly crushed mere seconds ago – fingers trembling slightly.

Bucky immediately knows what she wants, as if the thought had been his own. He closes his eyes, and slowly leans in to let her fingertips ghost against his cheek, whining as she proceeds to gently cradles his face in her hand.

_ I'll tell no one _ .

Bucky’s breath hitches when Wanda’s voice sounds inside his head, clear as a bell.

_ What I saw was not meant for me. Nor is it my place to decide when and if you tell anyone else. You have my word, this secret’s stays right here. In your mind. _

_ Your hand, _ he thinks, feeling sick with guilt as he forces himself to open his eyes long enough to meet her gaze, but Wanda just smiles.

_ Oh, please, _ she replies, sounding amused, and in his peripheral vision, Bucky sees the gleaming tendrils of red smoke coil around the hand that’s resting against his cheek, before disappearing just as quickly.  _ What good is a force field if I can't even use it to defend myself? _

“Feeling better?” he hears her ask out loud the minute she finished speaking inside his head. Somehow, Bucky manages a nod.

“Yeah,” he replies hoarsely. “Yeah, I— I just wasn't expecting that to happen.”

“I’m sorry, but,  _ what _ did just happen, exactly?” Sharon asks. She's looking between the two of them from a few feet away, but just like Wanda, she doesn't look  scared at all. It makes Bucky feel confused beyond belief. How come they’re not afraid of him? Didn't they  _ see _ what he just did?

“Bucky, we're your friends,” Wanda says, and he realizes that he's still subconsciously talking to her inside his mind. “We can tell the difference between you and him.”

“She's right,” Sharon says from over her shoulder. “You panicked, that’s all.”

“Panicked?” Bucky rasps in disbelief. “I nearly—”

“But you didn’t,” Wanda cuts him off. 

“You just caught us off guard,” Sharon says. Her lips tilt up in a little smile. “And sorry to bruise your ego, tough guy, but we're not really afraid of  _ you. _ ”

Bucky looks back at Wanda. Like Sharon, she’s smiling at him, and he can almost hear the sizzle in the air when, for a brief moment, she flashes red eyes his way, for emphasis.

“Now,” Sharon says as she takes a step closer. “You two wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“A memory,” Bucky replies with a groan as he slowly straightens up. “A very unexpected one…”

Carefully, he layers his hand over the one Wanda still has pressed against his jaw, and gives it a grateful, but very gentle squeeze as he guides it away. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. He tries to put every honest and grateful sentiment that he can into the words, and Wanda smiles at him as she cradles his fingers with her own.

“Don't worry about it,” she says, before adding, more sincerely, “Really.”

_ And if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me. _

A final affectionate press of her hand, and then she lets him go. As Wanda turns away, Sharon gives Bucky a long, quizzical look, but when he just shakes his head in an apologetic negative in response, she shrugs, and falls in next to Wanda to head down the aisle.

Bucky throws a glance over his shoulder at the blue button-down dress that's still hanging behind him, innocent and more alluring than ever. Then, he turns his back on it, and resolutely follows his friends as the three of them head towards the more modern section of the room to do what they came here for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

“You want us to do a _ strip tease? _ ” Jane chokes, eyes wide.

“No!” Maria exclaims. She sounds just about as appalled by the idea as Jane does, and Bucky doesn’t exactly blame either of them.

“If you’re talking about the same kind of burlesque I remember from the 30’s,” he supplies politely, “then sorry to break it to you, but that was  _ definitely  _ stripping.”

“You watched burlesque shows?” Natasha asks, at the same time as Maria goes, “No, not  _ that  _ kind of— Listen, it didn’t  _ start  _ like that, okay?”

She pauses, waiting for further objections. When none come, she takes a slow, deep breath. “Okay, so just… hear me out, all right? I did some reading up over the weekend, and before burlesque turned into a seedy euphemism for stripping, it was actually a proper art form.”

“Art form?” Pepper asks skeptically. 

“Yes,” Maria replies, defiantly this time. “From the beginning, burlesque was based on creating entertaining performances and sketches based on satire and showmanship. Hell, the word burlesque means  _ ‘to mock’ _ ! Girls used to read poetry, perform magic, acrobatics, tell jokes; you name it. They did it with sexy undertones, yes. And they  _ did  _ take their clothes off every now and then,  _ yes _ , but the fact that they did so wasn’t the  _ point. _ Then, like everything else, the whole thing got sexualized and turned into cheap entertainment for men to drool over,” she ends bitterly. 

“Burlesque…” Darcy mumbles. “Isn’t that the thing with all the corsets, and the frills and feathers?”

“Yeah…” Maria admits with a grimace. “Personally, I think the visuals might be a bit outdated, but there’s nothing saying we can’t create a more modern version of it and still keep the basic style.”

“We could go a little less feathers and maybe more lace and leather?” Pepper says. “That way, we can use stuff from our own wardrobes, instead of renting them from the TDF.”

“I like how you just assume we all have lace and leather in our wardrobes,” Bucky says with an amused smirk.

“Well, we all know you have at least one leather belt,” Darcy quips. “Even though it might be a bit worse for wear by now. Unless Steve’s learned to keep his teeth in check?”

“I think we should go all black,” Nat says thoughtfully. “I mean, let's face it. We all own something black and sexy that’s just that little  _ too  _ sexy to wear for the average party.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jane mumbles with a flustered look at the floor, which honestly makes Bucky question the sincerity behind her statement. Quickly, he goes through his mental records regarding the content of his own wardrobe. The results are… probably nothing like the kind of black and sexy that Nat’s referring to. Unless his tac suit counts. Steve has a thing for him and black cargo pants…

“Black sounds like a good plan,” Maria agrees. “And we’ll probably be able to move a lot better in our own clothes anyway.”

“All black, lace and leather,” Sharon mumbles. “Sounds like Chicago to me.” When nobody replies, she glances around the room expectantly. “Chicago?” she prompts. “The musical? Cell block tango?” She turns her head, looking at them all in turn. “Nobody?”

“You watch musicals?” Maria asks curiously.

“What?” Sharon defends herself. “I’m not all work, no play. I have a life too, you know.” 

“So, this Chicago musical,” Jane prompts. “It’s a satire show too? I mean, if burlesque and satire is what we’re aiming for?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sharon says with a snorted laugh. “That’s like, sort of the entire plot. Along with, you know, strong-willed women. Who murder people.”

“And dance?” Bucky asks.

“I think that’s implied in the whole ‘musical’ bit,” Natasha says helpfully, and Bucky gives her a sarcastic roll of his eyes in return, before pulling up his phone from his back pocket to tap the icon of the YouTube app.

“Alright,” he says with a sigh. “Let’s check out this  _ ‘Cell block tango’ _ of yours.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

In the end, their brief meeting to discuss dance-outfit-and-music choices, somehow ends up as a movie night in the Stark tower common room, complete with piles of blankets and pillows fetched from the tower’s various guest rooms. And popcorn, of course. 

Steve joins them halfway through the first movie, but falls asleep on Bucky’s shoulder before it’s even ended. Bucky sends him off to bed with a kiss and a slap on the butt before they start the second movie, and by the time they decide to call it a night, it’s already half past four on Sunday morning, and they’ve successfully worked their way through both Chicago, Moulin Rouge, and a movie that’s actually  _ named _ Burlesque. 

Out of the three, Bucky liked Moulin Rouge best.

Sunday is spent discussing music and the general concept of their performance around the common room’s breakfast table; mandatory dress code being pyjamas and slippers. Bucky is honestly surprised when all eight of them, only two hours later, actually manage to reach a mutual agreement. 

Per unanimous insistence of the other members, Natasha and Bucky are tasked with creating their choreography. Sharon is put in charge of costuming along with Jane and Maria, while Pepper, Wanda, and Darcy will take care of decor, props, and lighting. Naturally, they’ll all help wherever they can, but having distinct assignments makes for easier communication, rather than having everyone try to do everything at once.

Bucky spends half of the following week surfing the Web, looking at dancing videos, and reading up on every possible thing he can think of that might be of use to them while rehearsing the steps later. The other half he spends with Nat in the studio, working through steps and turns, altering positions, and adding kicks to the routine. Over and over, while scribbling, crossing out, and writing it down in notes that end up taking up nearly half a notebook.

It’s hard work, absolutely, and it steals a lot of time, but it’s also  _ really damn fun. _ Bucky can’t remember the last time he’d felt so invested in something that was purely for pleasure’s sake; even though, admittedly, things don’t always go as smoothly as he’d like them to.

He and Nat argue, of course they do. Bucky swears, at one point, he comes  _ this  _ close to walking out on the whole damn thing, but somehow, Nat always manages to rope him back in, before he can even get to the door of the studio. It’s valuable social interaction that Bucky realizes he hasn’t had for a very long time. 

Arguments with Steve have always been a part of their relationship, and after the stuff that went down in Siberia, falling back into that rhythm had been easy. Almost therapeutic. Steve could always tell and act accordingly when Bucky was spoiling for a fight because something else was bothering him. Even though those arguments had sometimes turned into actual, physical clashes, however brief, Bucky had never had to worry about accidentally causing Steve any harm, since Steve had already proven, on more than one occasion, that he’s capable of handling anything Bucky can dish out.

Those first months living together had been, needless to say, rough, and filled with altercations that neither of them feels particularity proud about having been a part of. The fights had not been pretty, and nowhere near healthy for that matter, but they had gotten through it, eventually. Now, the fights and disagreements from back then feel like something out of a partially faded dream; blurred around the edges, and without the crippling sense of shame they had made Bucky feel afterwards.

They’ve moved on. Not that Bucky's forgotten about it, oh no, he has not, and he keeps those memories very much in mind now for whenever Steve and he ever happen to engage in heated discussions. And Bucky makes sure to keep his mouth (and his fists) civil. 

These arguments with Natasha however… Debating with her is very different from the experiences Bucky has with Steve, in more ways than one. 

Bucky learns early on that he has to watch his tongue really damn closely because Nat can’t read his voice like Steve can, and in the beginning, what’s usually meant as just sarcastic comments, easily turn into the most vicious verbal confrontations Bucky’s ever experienced. And here, venting through physical brawls are out of the question; not only because it’s absolutely unacceptable behaviour, but also because Bucky is perfectly aware, as he had been with Sharon, of the things he’s done to Nat in the past as the Winter Soldier. The memory of Wanda’s wide startled eyes still rest uncomfortably close to the surface of his subconscious, and there’s just no way that he’s going to risk anything like that happening again, with anyone.     

He had tried to approach Wanda about the incident at the warehouse again during the movie night, but once again, she had turned his offer of an apology down. 

“I remember one time, back in Sokovia,” she had told him, eyes soft and lost in memory, “during one of the first missions Strucker sent us out on… It was winter, and Pietro and I got caught by surprise by a storm, and had to take cover in an abandoned hostel for the night. There were enough empty beds and blankets for us to get by without freezing, but the creaking of the building and the noise of the storm outside made me feel uneasy. I didn’t sleep well. I dreamed about being chased. Caught. Hurt…”

She had paused, and looked over towards the couch where the others had been busy rearranging the blankets and pillows for them all to get comfortable during the movie. Then she had turned back and looked Bucky straight in the eye.

“I woke up from the sound of Pietro choking out my name,” she says. “When I opened my eyes, I found him tethered to his bed, glowing red wrapped around his body and neck. He looked right at me, eyes watery, and I realized that I was slowly strangling him to death.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, and Wanda takes a deep, trembling breath. Then she smiles.

“When I tried to tell him how sorry I was, he wouldn’t have it. Instead, he spent the rest of the night holding me to make sure I felt safe. Saying he’d be a poor excuse of a brother if he didn’t take care of his frightened baby sister.” She shakes her head, laughing. “He never did let me live those twelve minutes down…”

Bucky had realized what it was she had just told him; of the meaning it carried. Not just that she had been willing to share that story of herself with him, but the parallel she had drawn between the events at that dusty old hostel in her home country, and what had transpired in the brightly lit aisle of the TDF warehouse. He had found himself struggling to keep his voice under control as he had reached out and slowly put his left arm on her shoulder, murmuring out a low, “Well, that’s what family’s for, right?” under his breath.

It had been a good thing that the movies had provided such good distraction after that, or he would have spent the rest of the night being an over-emotional, tearful mess. The him from a few weeks back would have said all the female company was slowly turning him into a girl. 

The new him decided that he was finally turning into a decent human being.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

After a week of altering between wanting to claw each other’s eyes out and high-fiving each other in the dance studio, Bucky and Nat are at long last ready to present the finished choreography for the rest of the group. 

As of now, they’re all packed into the studio to rehearse. So naturally, instead of doing just that, they are currently in deep discussions over whether they should really have  _ all  _ the chairs for the intro on the stage from the very start, or bring them in one-by-one as they make their own entrance.

“It’s easier to have them out there right away,” Pepper argues.

“But it won’t look as cool,” Darcy replies with a grimace. “It’ll look a lot more dramatic if Nat sits on the single chair alone when the lights come on, and then we join her when the drums start.”

“You’re gonna have to walk very fast,” Bucky points out, shaking his head as he looks at the chairs lined up in front of the mirror. “There isn’t that much time between the drums and the lyrics, and you need to get to your places, put the chairs down, and get on them in time with the music. In heels.”

“Why is that a problem?” Jane asks. She brings her foot up to display the black pump already on it, before gesturing to the rest of their feet, also in black pumps. Including Bucky’s. “We all know how to walk in heels.”

“It’s a problem, because we haven’t seen the stage yet,” Bucky explains patiently. “We don’t know how wide it is, or how many beats it takes for the person in front to reach the middle. There’s a big risk we won’t be able to get to our marks in time.”

“Oh,” Darcy mumbles, and Nat nods. 

“Yeah, we know,” she says. “However, once we  _ do  _ get to see the stage, that’s an easy detail to fix. It’s just the entrance. So for now, here, we’re gonna start with the chairs lined up.”

“Yeah, we already know how to carry a chair,” Maria agrees. “Learning the rest of the choreography is more important to focus on at this point.”

“Fair enough,”Jane admits. “So the chairs are out, Nat’s sitting there.” She points at the middle chair. “And then we come in, take our places, and then the first step starts when the lyrics do.”

“Yes,” Bucky says with a firm nod. He walks up to the chair next to the one reserved for Natasha, and straddles it, still standing. “It starts here, then you do the hip bounce;  _ one, two, three, four. _ Then, second line of the verse, you step up on the chairs,  _ five, six, seven. _ Eight, you wiggle your hips.” He follows the instruction through by demonstrating what he means, shaking his hips in four quick wiggles while standing on top of the chair. “Shrug, arms to the side, face to the front, and then shimmy,” he continues, shaking his shoulders and leaning forward slightly, hands grabbing around the top of the chair’s backrest. “And then, you strike a pose,” he finishes while gracefully reaching his left arm straight into the air while resting his right hand around the back of his neck. “Any pose you want. You can move around a little too, it’s just for a—”

“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”

For what must be the longest second of his life, Bucky’s heart seemingly stops inside his chest as he freezes, right there on top of the chair. 

“Barton!” he hears Natasha snap, almost angrily, and Bucky closes his eyes. No, he thinks. Not him. Not  _ Barton _ , of all people. 

“Hey, I’m just bringing you the stuff you asked for,” he hears Clint defend himself from the doorway. “I didn’t know you were in the middle of something up here.”

“You said you wouldn’t be here until later tonight,” Nat replies in a low hiss, and from the corner of his eye, Bucky sees Clint shrug and set a big cardboard box down by her feet.

“I got off earlier than expected. You said you guys would be here all day, so I figured I might as well get it over with.” He turns towards the room, “Afternoon, ladies. Barnes,” he adds casually towards Bucky, and Bucky swallows tightly as he slowly steps down from the chair to stand on the floor.

Clint’s eyes make a quick detour towards Bucky’s heel-clad feet as he does, and Bucky’s muscle immediately bunch into anxious knots underneath his skin. He knows what he must look like where he is; hair in a bun, a loose, grey tank top, black gym shorts, and equally black, three-inch pumps. 

He expects a joke; some kind of ridicule and mockery on his expense, and he’s already braced for the blow as Clint’s gaze rises up to his face. There, it lingers for a moment, sharp blue eyes regarding him from across the room in curious silence, before moving back to Nat again.

“Tony says you’ll have access to the premises at the end of next week,” Clint informs her. “There’s someone else renting it at the moment, so you can’t really go inside yet.”

“Alright,” Nat says, nodding. “Sounds good.”

As she finishes her sentence, a phone goes off in one of the gym bags by the door, after a brief surprised silence, Sharon quickly strides across the floor to dig into her bag with an apologetic glance around the room. “Gotta take this,” she says as she brings the phone to her ear and makes her way out of the room with a low, “Yes?” mumbled into the receiver.

Bucky watches her go, and it feels like having a layer of fabric rudely ripped off of his body. Just like that, he feels naked; exposed and on display, and unconsciously, he takes a slow step backwards, closer to the rest of the group. The moment he shifts his feet, however, Clint’s gaze turns towards him again, and Bucky goes still as their eyes meet for a second time.

“Well,” Natasha says, loudly. “Thank you for bringing the things by, Clint, that was nice of you. I’ll let you know if we need anything else.” 

“Sure, no problem,” Clint replies. He’s still looking at Bucky as he says it, and as he turns around, he leans down and picks the box back up with a nod towards the window on the opposite side of the room. “I’ll just put it down over there, shall I?”

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Nat starts.

“It’s not a problem,” Clint promises. “I’ll do it. Can’t have it standing around right inside the door like that. Someone might trip.”

Before Nat has time to say anything else, Clint has already turned away to head across the floor with the box in his arms, confident and with a purpose to his steps that makes Bucky’s skin crawl with suspicion. 

He looks on as Clint sets the box down next to the stereo, and then, to his surprise and growing dread, how Clint turns his head and beckons with his hand for Bucky to come over.

Bucky hesitates, but when Clint does it again, he slowly steps forward. He cringes on the inside as his heels click and clack audibly against the floorboards, but wills himself to remain calm and composed as he comes to a halt next to Clint, who’s now crouched down to rummage through the box.

There are clothes inside. Hats, and scarves, as well as a various collection of smaller props like folding paper fans, and metal jazz canes. Those are not what Clint is focusing on at the moment, however. He’s digging through the content, and eventually gives a triumphant little, “Aha!” as he pulls out an envelope, which he hands towards Bucky.

“I got you this,” he says as Bucky takes the envelope out of his hand. “Figured you might wanna see what the joint looks like.”

He stands up, and Bucky opens the envelope to reveal a collection of photographs depicting a big room with rows of red cushioned seats in front of what appears to be an enormous stage. There are at least thirty people standing at the center of it, waving and smiling to the crowd below. Simply looking at it makes Bucky’s stomach tighten with nerves.

“It’s big,” he murmurs.

“Yup,” Clint replies while looking at the photo over Bucky’s shoulder. “The place is a damn barn.” He pauses. “Are those your shoes, by the way?”

Bucky hesitates. For a moment, he considers lying. Then he realizes that there’s really no point. “Yes,” he replies hoarsely. “Nat got them for me.”

“They’re nice,” Clint offers, before adding, as if on a whim, “I used to own something similar myself, once.”

Bucky blinks, looking up. “What?” he asks, stumped.

“Oh, I never wore them,” Clint clarifies. “I had them in my hallway, for show. It was way back when I worked undercover as a crossdressing hair-and-makeup artist in California.”

He pauses, perhaps to allow Bucky the time needed to let his words sink in. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but inside his chest, his heart is working on pounding its way straight out through his rib cage. Clint, who Bucky’s more than convinced has figured out the state of Bucky’s nerves already, carries on:

“I admit, I wasn’t happy about it at first. I mean,  _ me, _ wearing dresses, and makeup, and talking with a lisp because it fitted the stereotype of my character to do so? Not exactly the proudest moment of my career. At the time.”

“You say that as if something happened to change your mind,” Bucky says carefully, without really asking.

“Makeup, my friend,” Clint says gravely. “Makeup happened.” He sighs and leans back against the window, with this elbows resting against the windowsill. “I put that stuff on every single day for nearly two months. Ruined my skin entirely, simply because I was using the wrong kind of products.”

“That sounds like a strange way to gain respect for something,” Bucky points out. He can tell that Barton is heading somewhere with this little story, but exactly where that is, Bucky has no idea.

“It was the start of it,” Clint says. “Turns out, I was a complete idiot back then, and I made the fatal mistake of going into that mission being bitter. I assumed out of pride that the work I was required to do wasn’t all that hard or complex. That it would be  _ easy. _ It was the first and last time I made that blunder.” He narrows his eyes as he looks at Bucky with a curious squint. “Do you have any idea how many times I had to buy new foundation, from how many brands, before I finally found one that matched my skin tone?” 

As Bucky shakes his head, Clint continues, heatedly, “Six. I bought  _ six  _ foundations, from  _ four  _ different brands, just to not look like I had mistaken my day creme for tanning lotion.”

“Sounds expensive,” Bucky comments, because he’s been in this dance class long enough now to have been informed exactly of how much good makeup costs.

“It nearly ruined me,” Clint mutters. “And don’t even get me started on the damn blush palette.” He shakes his head, snorting out a laugh. “And still, in spite of all that, I actually thought it was fun. Not as much  _ wearing  _ the stuff as it was putting it on other people, or reading up on it, but still… I mean, it’s an artform, that stuff. A secret dimension that I’m way too lazy to keep up with. And as you said, makeup is expensive. For women to be expected to know everything there is about it, just because they’re  _ women _ , and also plan it into their budget and time schedule every single day is seriously impressive.”

Bucky waits, expecting there to be more, but Clint doesn’t say anything else. He just stands there, looking down at the floor between their feet, seemingly lost in thought. Bucky throws a quick glance towards the door, but Sharon is still nowhere to be seen, and Bucky begrudgingly decides that he might as well put his foot in this obvious trap right away, just to get it over with.

“I wouldn’t know,” he says with a sigh, filling up the silence. “I’ve never tried any of that stuff. Makeup, I mean.”

“Yeah, it’s not for everyone. Either you like it or you don’t.” Clint turns his head and gives Bucky’s heels another quick glance from the corner of his eye. “Important thing is to use it because you want to, not because it’s expected. Or  _ not  _ expected, for that matter.”

“Isn’t that what you did?” Bucky asks flatly, and Clint shrugs. 

“Sure. It was my job,” he replies. “But just because it started as my job doesn’t mean I didn’t feel anything for it, in the end.”

“And what exactly did you  _ feel? _ ” Bucky says the words low, and with a warning edge to them, just to make it clear that Barton better choose his next words very carefully if he plans on keeping his teeth.

“Astonishment,” Clint replies immediately, and with such blatant honesty, Bucky almost feels guilty for having asked when Clint continues, “Conscious of the world in a way I hadn’t been before. Not just due to the makeup, of course, but it had been the catalyst. I met so many people on that mission; got to see glimpses of so many different lives, trying to stay neutral to it all was pretty much useless.”  

Bucky nods in silence, before clearing his throat. “So…” he says slowly, “people didn’t think it was weird that you… you know, used makeup?”

“Oh, they thought it was weird, alright,” Clint assures him. “And they told me as much, too. But I couldn’t exactly let them get to me, posing as an artist and all.”

“It must have  _ felt  _ weird too, though, right?” Bucky prompts with a frown. “Just… walking out like that in public right off the bat?”

“Nah,” Clint says. “I mean, the first time, I just used eyeliner. No mascara or anything, just a little color to frame the shape of my eyes. Turned out pretty well for a first attempt, if I do say so myself.”

“And then you just… piled it on?”

“Pretty much. I added some mascara; after that eyeshadow. Then I moved on to lipstick, and tried to find a concealer that didn’t leave big splotches of orange on my skin… Baby steps. And you don’t  _ pile _ makeup,” he adds firmly, “you layer it. Like clothes.”

“I see.”

Clint smiles and gives Bucky’s shoulder an encouraging slap. “It’s a science,” he says, “but it’s a fun science. A little bit like what you guys do here, with the dancing, and the props. The shoes.”

Bucky gives him a sharp look, but Clint just tightens his grip on Bucky’s shoulder for a moment, before leaning off the windowsill with a groan, just as Sharon comes walking back through the door.

“Well,” he says, “I guess I should get going before Nat kicks me out. Good luck with the routine. From what I saw, it looks like it’s gonna be great!”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

On the way back from dance class, Bucky asks Nat to drop him off at a department store. He tells her not to wait for him, and heads on inside before she gets a chance to ask what his errand is. Or worse: if she can come with him.

It’s Saturday afternoon, and the place is packed. Bucky had hoped that the nice weather would have drawn people to the parks rather than the stores, but unfortunately, that doesn’t appear to be the case. He had hoped to do this without too large of an audience, but as it is, he’s simply going to have to deal with it. 

Said and done, Bucky doesn't have to go very far, as he immediately finds himself in the cosmetics and perfumes department at the very front of the store. Here, he pauses for a moment, trying to figure out which direction to go in the maze of product-branded booths in front of him. There aren’t many men around, even though Bucky  _ is  _ relieved to find that he’s not the only one. Women, on the other hand, are  _ everywhere _ ; moving around and plucking with products amongst the countless shelves of makeup and perfume that are lining the walls around him. He decides to make his business here as quick and discreet as he possibly can, and goes for one of the cheaper-end brands where the unattended display case closest is labeled ‘sale’. There, he swiftly picks up a black eyeliner gel pen, because a pen is good. A  _ pen _ he knows how to use, at least. Not to mention that the liquid ones sound far too intimidating for him at this point. 

On a whim, he also grabs a lipstick at random from a mixed assortment bowl in passing, before he heads over to the young lady manning the nearest register. Once the two items have been paid for, he simply tucks them into the smaller compartment on the outside of his gym bag, before exiting the store just as quickly as he had entered it. 

He takes the bus back home to the Stark tower, and the presence of the makeup in his bag feels like it’s going to burn a hole straight through the fabric during the entire ride.

“Hey!” he calls out as he enters Steve’s and his floor, and Steve responds with a cheerful, “Hi!” from inside the living room, followed by, “How was practice?” 

“Good,” Bucky calls back. “We got a lot done. Barton stopped by with some props, so we tried out a few options with them too. I think it’s gonna be great.”

“Oh, so Clint can come watch, but I can’t?” Steve asks teasingly as Bucky walks up to casually lean against the doorframe to the office. 

“Clint can do no such thing,” he corrects with a smirk. “We kicked him out again as soon as he left the stuff.”

“Huh,” Steve says, spinning the office chair around to face him. “So he can’t give me any secret details even if I bribe him then?”

“Nope,” Bucky replies. “Not even if you offer to buy him Starbucks for a full year.”

“That’s too bad,” Steve muses. He stands up from the chair, and in three short strides, he’s right there, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s lips. Bucky kisses him back, for a little while at least, before pushing his partner away with a snorted laugh.

“Hey,” he says with a chuckle. “I need to grab a shower.” 

“Want company?” Steve hums, but Bucky simply steps back with another chuckle and a slow shake of his head.

“Nah, too tired,” he says. “I’m just gonna dip in and out real quick, and then I plan on spending the rest of the day on the couch.”

Steve makes a low, displeased sound as Bucky takes another step backwards and out of Steve’s reach, but he drops his hands to the side with a smile nonetheless.

“I’ll be right out,” Bucky promises. Then he hoists his bag higher onto his shoulder, and disappears into the bathroom, looking the door tightly behind him.

He tries on the eyeliner first.

He expects it to be difficult to put on, which turns out to be completely correct. Erasing his mistakes, even more so. However, after several grumbled-out curses and shaky attempts, he finally manages to place a pretty decent looking line along the curved edge of each of his eyelids, and even though the left one turns out a bit thicker than the right one, he’s still pleased with the result. The dark contour really does bring out the color of his eyes, making them look sharper and brighter, all at once.

Encouraged, he makes the decision to try the lipstick as well. He peels off the plastic wrapping, while reading the label at the bottom which informs him that he’s purchased the shade ‘Candid Cranberry’. As promised, as he twists the bottom half of the casing, a dark red rod of color immediately rises from within the silvery tube. 

Bucky wets his lips carefully, and then briefly pulls them between his teeth, before leaning in against the bathroom mirror while bringing the lipstick to his mouth. Bracing himself against the imminent disaster he’s sure will come the moment he puts the color to his lips, he takes a deep breath, and then applies the first creamy stroke of cranberry across his upper lip. 

The movement flows so smoothly, for a moment he just stands there, staring at his own reflection. Then, he repeats the same action on the opposite side, going from center to corner, with the same effortless result. The lower lip goes just as easy, and Bucky watches his hand steer the makeup as if it’s being controlled by someone else; the movement seemingly residing within the very memory of his muscles.

He very much doubts that the knowledge of how to do that particular movement originated from his time with Hydra. Which means that it’s something he must have learned before that. When he was still… him. 

The thought makes his stomach whirl with such a mix of emotions, he can’t even tell for sure what it is he’s actually feeling about it. He looks at himself in the mirror, slowly turning his face from one side to the other to examine the result of his efforts more closely. He doesn’t think it looks all that bad, really, even though it’s very… different from what he’s used to seeing. 

Looking at his hair, which is still pulled up in his standard gym-bun, he tries to envision what he would have looked like, had his hair been shorter and his face more clean-shaven. Like he had been back then. Then, he slowly pulls the hair tie out to let the curls fall down to frame his face as he shakes them out. He likes that better. It makes his face look softer, and his eyes more alive. And it brings a nice, discreet focus to the new, dark shade of his lips.

Bucky decides that he likes that color a lot, and for just a split second, he wonders if perhaps Steve would like it too?

He shakes the thought from his head as quickly as it arrives, telling himself that it’s far too soon to be thinking about stuff like that. He’s not even sure himself what this is about yet, and to bring Steve into it now would be a downright stupid thing to do. Instead, he allows himself another minute to study his own reflection, and then steps into the shower. As he washes the makeup off his face with what’s most likely three times the amount of soap required, he can’t help but recall the mental image that had surfaced inside his head during the visit to the warehouse the other day. The one of him in silk lingerie. 

There’s no doubt in his mind now that it had really been a memory. It had been him, at one point in time, for some reason, and the more he thinks about it, the more his resolve on the matter strengthens. By the time he’s done with his shower, he feels more decisive and in tune with his own mind than he has for the past month.

As he tucks the eyeliner and lipstick back into his gym bag – after having carefully wrapped them up in a spare towel for safe keeping – he takes a moment to wonder whether the story Clint had told him back at the studio had really been all true, or whether it had just been something he had said to make Bucky feel less embarrassed about his footwear. 

Then, approximately two seconds later, he decides that it doesn’t really matter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

 

On Wednesday, Bucky receives a parcel in the mail.

He’s been waiting for it the entire week, and when it finally arrives, he immediately takes it into the bedroom and hides it in the very back of his closet. He would really have liked to open it right away, but he’s not about to risk doing so while Steve’s still at home. This is really,  _ really  _ something he wants to do in private.

So instead, he spends the entire day throwing stealthy glances at the clock, silently wishing for time to move faster. Steve has promised to join Sam down at the VA where he volunteers nowadays as a favor, so Bucky will have the apartment to himself for at least three hours, which honestly couldn’t have come at a better time. Three hours will surely be enough for what he’s planning. Or at least, he hopes so…

He’s nervous. He’s not about to lie to himself about that. Considering the kind of headaches conjured by him simply remembering things, he has no idea what actually  _ recreating _ some of them will do. He might black out. Suffer a brain aneurysm. A stroke. 

Ironically enough, it’s not the thought about blacking out that worries him the most, but the inevitable scenario of then being  _ found _ , should that happen. And what state he will be found  _ in. _ As if collapsing on the floor wouldn’t be embarrassing enough during normal circumstances…

When Steve eventually begins to prepare to leave at around half past six, Bucky’s slouched in front of the T.V. with both feet on the coffee table, acting as if the documentary currently showing about the wildlife in South Africa is the most fascinating thing he’s ever come across.

“I’ll be back at around nine,” Steve promises as he stops by the couch to say good bye. “You still up for pizza by then?”

“Is that even a real question?” Bucky grumbles, leaning up to accept the kiss Steve offers him, before falling back against the armrest. “You know what I want, right?”

“I assume you’re talking about that culinary atrocity you usually order?” Steve says with a sigh.

“I am, and shut your face,” Bucky retorts.

“I mean, banana and pineapple is weird enough,” Steve says, “but peanuts and curry too?” 

“It’s not my fault you have no concept of good food,” Bucky argues flatly.

“I may not be a cook, but I know how to  _ eat  _ alright,” Steve points out. “And that disaster you call a pizza sure doesn’t classify as edible.”

“Bite me,” Bucky quips, and Steve smirks, before leaning down to kiss him again.

“Maybe later,” he promises, and Bucky snorts out a laugh against his partner’s lips, before Steve straightens up. “See you in a bit,” Steve says, waving as he heads for the door, and Bucky waves back, eyes already returning to the T.V. screen.

The moment the click of the lock reaches his ears, however, Bucky is off the couch in a flash, turning off the T.V. with a careless wave of the remote. He forces himself to wait long enough to make sure Steve hasn’t accidentally forgotten something, and once he’s sure that Steve’s not coming back, Bucky goes into the bedroom and fetches the parcel from the wardrobe.

Opening it up is an easy matter, in spite of the generous amount of tape surrounding the box. Once the flaps of the lid are folded aside, Bucky finds himself staring down at his purchases with a peculiar sense of dread-filled anticipation coiling in the pit of his stomach.

The first pair of panties are white. Just plain white cotton, like the kind you can find in any store around the country, except this model has been made to fit a bit more mass down the front than the women’s standard. The second pair is of the same model, but in black satin. The third are hipsters in sheer lace. They’re practically see-through, and Bucky tentatively lets the tip of his fingers run over the floral pattern as he lays the three garments out on top of the bed, side by side.

There are other things in the box as well, and Bucky takes them out and places them on the bed with the same respect as he would have handled a bag of explosives. There’s a black garter belt to match the silken panties, and a pair of thigh-high stockings with a thin lace trim running along the hemline. There’s also a black lace-up corset – and underbust model, because simply looking at a corset with cups had felt… wrong. As if by buying that, he’d be trying to pose as a woman, which is not what he wants at all. 

He looks down at his newly acquired collection of lingerie, pondering his options. He could grab the bull by the horns on this, of course, and just try it all on at once and get it over with, but… it might also prove to be too much, too soon. 

Deciding to start out simple and see where it takes him, Bucky slowly begins to strip out of his clothes. He takes his time to carefully fold each garment and put them away on the chair next to the bed, until he’s left only wearing his dark grey boxer briefs. As he puts his thumbs inside the elastic waistband, he hesitates. It’s only for a second, and then he pulls the underwear off and lets them join the rest of the clothes on the chair.

Standing naked in front of the bed, he reaches for the cotton panties first, and carefully threads his bare feet through them to pull them up over his hips. They’re not as roomy as a pair of boxer shorts, but Bucky is both surprised and a little relieved when he finds that he actually likes the tighter feel of them. They wrap snugly around his hips, much lower than his usual underwear, but still comfortable. Experimentally, he reaches his hand down the front to carefully adjusts himself, before turning around towards the full length mirror on the wall next to the door. As his gaze lands on his own reflection, he finds himself desperately trying to fight back a furious blush that immediately threatens to rise to his cheeks.

The fabric is thinner than what he’s used to, and he can see the curved shadow of his cock resting within the cradle of white cotton in near shameless innocence. As he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, he can also see the lower half of his hip bones press against the fabric, while the upper halves peek out seductively over the thin lace-trim of the waistband. 

Bucky watches his chest rise and fall in a deep intake of breath, and he swallows hard as he realizes that he’s sporting a semi between his legs.

In a way, he had been expecting that. Call it a hunch, or a recollection, even. Still, he hadn’t really thought that it would happen so early on. It would have been presumptuous of him to assume that he hadn’t ever enjoyed lingerie in  _ that _ way in the past, but to have his body reacting to a sensory memory that he himself can’t remember is a little bit unsettling, still.

There are no brain-splitting headaches to speak of yet, however, which is a good sign. Encouraged, Bucky slowly pulls the white panties off and puts them back on the bed, before reaching for the black, silk ones. The new material is cool against his skin as he slides it over his thighs, and the sensation sends a shiver up his spine that takes the form of goose bumps as it multiplies throughout his limbs. 

He feels as if he’s doing something he absolutely should not be doing. Something forbidden and sinful that causes the adrenaline to race through his veins like a runaway train. As he tucks the rapidly thickening length of his cock down the front of the panties, he can’t help but give it a lingering squeeze before letting go, straightening up to study his reflection once more.

The black ones look sexier, he decides. The white had been sexy too, in a much more innocent way, while these are more stylish. Like a little black dress at a cocktail party.

Exactly why that parallel appears in his mind, Bucky can’t really say, but it fits well enough that he's not going to argue with himself about it. Instead, he carefully runs his palms up the side of his hips to slide them over the front of the underwear, and his breath stutters as he tentatively rubs himself through the sleek fabric. It feels… familiar. If something completely new can feel that way? Keeping his gaze locked on his hands, Bucky slowly turns to the side, and he groans under his breath when the profile of his erection becomes clearly visible within the frame of the mirror. 

He looks hot. It’s a word he hasn’t used about himself in a very, very long time – if ever – but like this, it feels right. He  _ does  _ look hot. The black shine of the satin shows off the curves of his body in a way that his usual underwear simply can’t, and when he moves, the soft whisper of the fabric dragging over his skin makes his pulse quicken.

Breathing shallowly, he rubs his thumb over the bulge, tracing the bend of it up and down in slow, teasing swipes. God, it feels good. Or maybe it feels good because he, in a way, expects it to? He doesn’t know for sure, nor does he really care. All he knows is that the touch makes his stomach tighten and causes his cock to twitch beneath the fabric, and neither of those things feel like a relevant cause for him to stop.

Still, he doesn’t want to get too carried away. Not yet.

Through the mirror, he looks over his shoulder at the bed, where the final pair of underwear still lies on top of the covers, and he halts his hand to press his palm against the top of his cock with a shudder. 

The lace hipsters are tighter due to the material, but it feels good in a way that the cotton and satin had not been able to mimic. Good, like those rare times Steve pulls at Bucky’s hair during sex, or squeezes his ass hard enough to bruise. 

_ Kinky.  _

That’s what it feels like.

As he watches his hard cock strain against the sheer pattern of the lace, Bucky squirms where he stands in the middle of the bedroom, suddenly impossibly aroused. 

This style looks even better on him. It brings out the sharp jut of his hips a lot better, as well as the vee of his lower abs and pelvis where they disappear beneath the low slung elastics of the waistband. Spinning around to look at the back, Bucky lets out a soft sigh as he sees the way the lace wraps across the firm swell of his buttocks.

He wonders what Steve would think if he saw him now. What he would say.

Would he recognize it from back then? Had Bucky ever shown him this side of himself? And if so, had Steve liked it? 

The fantasy springs to life inside his head with such clarity, for a moment, Bucky’s not sure whether it’s actually a fantasy at all and not a memory. He pictures Steve’s face, with eyes wide and mouth gaping open as he stands in the doorway to their bedroom, staring at Bucky with raw and unbridled lust in his eyes, as if it’s the first time he really  _ sees _ him. It makes Bucky groan, stomach twisting as he drags his hands over the head of his cock through his panties. 

His panties. The thought feels surprisingly natural inside his head, like a puzzle piece slotting into place, seamlessly.  _ His  _ panties… It makes his knees feel weak, and he slowly steps back to the bed, quickly putting the rest of the items back into the box, before setting it on the floor. Then, he lies down on his back in the middle of the bed. Inside his head, Steve is still watching him from the doorway, and holding on to that mental image, Bucky closes his eyes as he licks his lips slowly, before reaching down to cup himself through his underwear.

He thinks about what Steve would want him to do, had he actually been there. Tease himself, surely. Yeah, Steve would absolutely tell Bucky to toy with his chest for him; to play with his nipples until Bucky can’t take it anymore. It’s ironic, really, for Captain America, the symbol of all things good and pure of this nation to be such a horny little bastard. 

Nevertheless, Bucky still takes his hand off his groin to bring it up to his chest, mimicking the movement with his other hand as well. The metal of his left hand’s fingers are cold as he ghosts them against his nipple, and his cock twitches hard as Bucky drags the index finger in a lazy circle around the rapidly pebbling skin. 

Bucky remembers the first time Steve had discovered that particular weak spot of his. It had been way back when Steve’s limbs had been more like toothpicks than tree trunks, but god, Bucky had loved him just as desperately either way. He remembers the two of them lying on Steve’s bed, with Steve curled up on Bucky's chest with his body nestled into the vee of his legs. Steve’s hands had been cold, Bucky recalls, and he had shoved them underneath Bucky’s shirt to warm them up. 

One thing had led to the other, and within minutes, Steve had managed to render Bucky a squirming, gasping, whining mess, right there on the bed. Bucky had clutched his hands over Steve’s narrow shoulders, holding on for dear life while rutting against the weight of Steve's body while Steve continued to rub and tease over his chest, never stopping. Bucky had ended up coming like that, spilling inside his pants so hard the force of his climax had rendered him momentarily mute. From that point on, Steve had never passed up a chance to use that knowledge against him, and so far, Bucky hasn’t found any reason to complain about it.

The mere memory of it makes Bucky stop the slow rubbing to pinch both nipples harder, and he presses his head into the pillow with a ragged gasp as the sensation shoots to his groin in a white-hot flash. He rocks his hips, humping nothing but air as the minimal weight of lace against his skin fails to provide him with enough friction to ease the frustration.

Inside his head, Steve slowly leans off the doorframe to saunter towards the bed, looking down at Bucky from above, and Bucky bits his lip, breath shaking beneath Steve’s scrutinizing gaze.

_ Turn around. _

Bucky moans, smoothing his palms down his chest to grab at the sheets by his hips.

_ Let me see you from behind. _

Again, the sound of Steve’s voice is so vivid inside his head, the real Steve might as well have snuck inside the room while Bucky has had his eyes closed. He actually pries his eyes open, just to check, and realizes that he’s both relieved and disappointed when he finds the room to be empty apart from himself.

_ Bucky, _ Fantasy-Steve coaxes again.  _ Roll. Over. _

Immediately, Bucky shifts to rest on all fours, pushing his hips back to feel the lace stretch obscenely tight over his ass.

_ Christ, that’s stunning…  _ Steve murmurs, and in his imagination, Bucky’s breath hitches when he feels a lone finger trace down the middle of his spine.  _ Such a looker you are, huh? _ Bucky imagines that same phantom finger as it slowly dips beneath the elastic of the panties, testing out the give of it, before letting them snap back against Bucky’s skin, causing him to flinch.

Bucky lowers his hips down to drag his pelvis against the mattress in a slow lazy thrust, keeping his back arched as he braces himself on straight arms to look down to where his cock rubs against the covers through the sheer material of his underwear. The sight makes his breath stall, and rocking back, he repeats the movement again, human arm trembling, and metal arm whirring as the sensation makes his toes curl.

Keeping the thrusts deliberately shallow, Bucky moans as the teasing tingle pools in his stomach. He manages to resist for another few shoves, but then he gives in and presses himself down harder. His spine curves as he rolls his hips, slumping onto his elbows to bury his face in his hands with a ragged breath. 

Christ, that feels good.  _ Insanely _ good, and not just physically, but… God, he just can’t get the imaginary image of Steve out of his head. Steve, standing behind him and slowly rubbing himself through his jeans as he watches Bucky rut against the mattress, humming low under his breath. The very idea makes Bucky feel hot in ways he can barely describe.

He feels  _ pretty _ . Just like he had while wearing the pumps back in the studio that first time. Sexy and sensuous, in a dangerous way. Like having sex while simultaneously playing with a loaded gun.  

Groaning, he grabs at his hair, fisting it with a whine in the back of his throat as he grits his teeth. He’s grinding down against the mattress hard now, hips working and the muscles of his ass and thighs clenching on every thrust, and it’s  _ maddening. _ He makes a grab for the sheets with his left hand, just to ground himself when the pleasure makes his head swirl. It works, but just barely, and he mimics the gesture with the other hand as well, clutching at the covers and wringing them between his fingers. 

“Oh, god…” He shudders as the words leave his mouth, low and awed. “Oh, god, Stevie…”

His pelvis stutters, and his cock throbs hard when he thinks about the things his partner would be able to do to him like this. The number of possibilities nearly has him climbing the bed in sheer desperation as he brings his other knee up to gain more leverage, and the new angle makes him gasp and roll his hips with a loud whimper. 

_ Touch yourself. _

“Please…” Bucky whispers. His entire body twitches, and this time he brings both knees up, thrusting down and into the mattress in quick, needy movements. “Oh, please, baby, please… Oh, god…”

_ Show me where you want me to touch you. _

Bucky drops down onto his right elbow, reaching back with his left arm to grab around the curve of his ass with breathless groan. He slides the tip of a metal finger between his cheeks to rub it over his hole through the lace, pressing down over it in rapid, teasing swipes. His feet slip on the covers, making him lose the angle his cock had been pressing into the mattress, and he growls in frustration as he shoves his hips down and forward in a frantic attempt to get it back.

“Fuck…” he hisses. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…!”

He’s so close, and it feels so fucking good, he can barely stand it. His entire body is trembling, and his breathing is coming in short, rapid breaths that literally shake apart with how hard he’s shivering. He presses his face into the covers with a whine, jaw slack, and he can’t bring himself to stop moving, not even to gain more leverage. He’s too close to the edge already, and he just needs a little push, just a little one and he’ll be right there. He’ll be right fucking there, oh, god, please…

_ It’s okay, _ Steve whispers inside his head, his voice a low, soothing purr.  _ It’s okay, Buck.  _

Bucky wants to reply, wants the extra edge gained from answering the fantasy he’s conjured up for himself, but he can’t even do that. Instead, his voice is reduced to nothing but a hoarse, high pitched sob as he fists the hair at the top of his head again with his free hand, pulling at it, imagining that it’s Steve doing it for him. 

_ Look at you. Look at how pretty you are like this. So gorgeous, sweetheart. _

Oh, how he wishes the actual Steve would say that to him. For Steve to call him pretty and gorgeous while Bucky humps the bed in his black lace panties, cock hard and leaking against the mattress.

Fuck, it’s an exciting thought. A spine-tingling, mind-blowing,  _ overwhelming  _ thought, and Jesus Christ, Bucky’s going to come. He’s going to come right fucking now, and he quickly brings his metal arm around to shove himself up, mouth falling open as he rolls over onto his back to stare down the length of his body. Grabbing around his cock through his panties he feels it throb once, hard against the palm of his hand, before he slams his head back onto the pillow with a breathless cry as he comes, hot and messy in his brand new underwear. 

He comes so hard, it almost gives him a headache. It’s ridiculous, really, and as he slowly comes down from the final crest of his high, chest heaving and limbs twitching, he realizes that he’s also grinning and snickering to himself like an idiot.

“Holy hell…” he groans out, just before bursting out in another brief fit of dazed laughter. 

He stays like that for awhile, sprawled out among the rumpled covers to stare up at the ceiling in drowsy astonishment while contemplating the event that had just taken place. Like this, afterwards, it feels close to surreal that a few pieces of clothing had been able to have such an effect on him. And Steve, of course. Although, the latter isn’t really a surprise. Even when he’s not really there, the bastard still manages to bring out the most desperate sides of him.

As he lies there, Bucky keeps expecting something more to happen. Migraine, a flashback, anything, really, but he gets nothing. Which is all right. 

Actually, as he thinks about it, it’s totally okay.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Steve comes back at exactly five minutes past nine, bringing two steaming boxes of pizza with him. By that time, Bucky has already put two ice-cold beers on the coffee table in front of the T.V. and is trying to convince his stomach that it’s  _ not  _ going to crawl out of his body in search of food if it doesn’t get fed within the next five minutes.

He’s gotten himself cleaned up, and he’s washed the soiled underwear in the bathroom sink and hid it along with the rest of the lingerie in the back of his closet again. Now he looks as if he’s indeed spent the entire evening on the couch, possibly sleeping for an hour or two. Not dressing himself up in outrageously pretty lace panties and fucking the foam out of their mattress. 

He yanks the boxes out of Steve’s hands before he’s even made it through the door, and when Steve finally makes it to the couch, Bucky is already in the process of stuffing the first pizza slice into his mouth.

Steve watches him eat with a look of fascinated disgust, and when Bucky swallows, he grimaces, visibly shuddering.

“I honestly don’t get how you can eat that stuff. How you managed to find a place to make it for you, I’ll never know,” he says as he picks up a slice of his own pizza, and Bucky huffs, licking off the lingering topping that’s smeared over his left hand. 

“That’s because you only eat pizza with ham and mushrooms,” he says around the digit in his mouth. “You don’t have the culinary palate necessary to appreciate this masterpiece.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve breathes, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Stop staring,” he gruffs, and Steve immediately tears his eyes away from where Bucky is sucking the tomato sauce of his ring finger. 

“You’re not playing fair again,” Steve mutters back, before biting into his food. Bucky just shakes his head as he goes for his second slice, and he makes a big point out of humming loudly as he bites into it while leaning in against Steve’s shoulder.

“Get that horrible thing away from me,” Steve orders, shoving Bucky playfully aside. “I don’t want my food to catch whatever it is yours is suffering from.”

“If you’re referring to the case of absolute deliciousness I am currently holding in my hand, then congratulations, you’ve already succeeded.” He nods towards the half-eaten slice still in Steve’s hands. “That thing looks about as succulent as a wooden plank.”

“Well, a plank would probably be better than your yellow-fevered pie over there,” Steve replies stubbornly.

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the sound of my tastebuds singing.”

“You’re awful,” Steve mutters, leaning over and ghosting a swift kiss against the light scruff of Bucky’s cheek before returning to his food. Bucky smiles as he reaches for the remote and flicks through a few of the channels. He settles for what looks like a pretty interesting show about customized motorcycles, and as he puts the remote back down, he also takes the chance to steal a mushroom slice off Steve’s pizza.

Steve lets him, of course, even though he gives Bucky’s knee a berating little nudge with his own, and Bucky grins at him. Then, his stomach makes another one of those grumbling noises that means it’s thinking about migrating again, and Bucky quickly returns to his pizza, before his insides decide to apply for a Canadian citizenship or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

There’s a big difference between practicing dancing for fun and doing it for a public performance – something that becomes evident after only one-and-a-half training session. The energy in the studio is so loaded, Bucky swears, it could be firing it’s own rounds. It’s almost electric, with a tension to it like an oncoming thunderstorm, and it shows in the people there as well. The nerves are through the roof, and in Bucky’s opinion, it’s equal parts hilarious as it is a cause for concern. 

Maria, for one, lets out steam by curses like a sailor whenever she messes up the routine, while Darcy, in stark contrast, turns silent as the grave while biting her own lip in determined concentration. Jane resorts to mumbling the steps  _ (five, six, seven, eight, and turn, two, three…)  _ under her breath throughout the entire song to stay focused, and Bucky is amusedly grateful that they won’t have any reason to wear microphones during the performance.

Natasha doesn’t show any emotions whatsoever as she dances, but she smiles and laughs along with the others whenever the music comes to a stop. It’s like flipping a light switch, on, off, on, off. Bucky honestly can’t tell if she’s doing it on purpose, or if she’s just really  _ that  _ focused.

Pepper, whom Bucky actually expects to be businesslike and professional, surprises them all by bursting into peals of laughter whenever she loses her rhythm, and should she happen to make eye contact with anyone of them in the mirror, her struggle not to laugh is close to painful to watch. Next to Maria and Nat, she makes for a stark, and slightly ironic contrast.

In the wake of all this, Sharon becomes a problem-solver unlike anyone Bucky’s ever seen, and should someone give any form of indication that they haven’t fully understood how to do one thing or other, she’s immediately there to give helpful tips and pointers. It doesn’t always work out like she plans it to, however. At one point, she tries to tell Maria to pull her shoulders back a little further during a specific part of the song, and that conversation ends with Maria telling Sharon – in the least girly way Bucky’s ever heard it – to stop with the meddling, or Maria will personally shove her heeled-adorned foot up Sharon’s backside.

It takes them ten minutes to get back to practice after  _ that  _ particular disaster…  

Wanda, on the other hand, handles her stress without antagonizing anyone. Bucky doesn't even notice it at first, because Wanda has an eerie tendency to blend into the background whenever she wants to, but he does pick up on it, eventually. During the final minutes before practice starts, she usually stands aside from the others; often seemingly looking out the window, when in reality, she is just breathing slowly and steadily, with her eyes closed. She looks peaceful, Bucky decides, once he actually figures out what she’s doing. Like she’s asleep.

Whatever meditative breathing technique she’s using, it obviously works. She nails every turn and step during the entire routine, every single time. Her expression is focused, her gaze firm, and she looks as if dancing is something she’s been doing since before she could walk. Watching her perform makes Bucky feel proud in a way he hasn’t been since the time Becca had sucker-punched that numskull Henry Brunner right in the kisser when he had demanded to see her underwear.

The sudden clarity of the memory actually has him stumbling slightly in the middle of a step. Man, he hasn’t thought about Becca like that in… well, in years. Not even briefly, and yet— 

He glances at Wanda in the mirror; taking in the long hair, the steady, attentive gaze, and the noble grace in her steps. To be honest, she looks nothing like Becca. Becca, with her blonde hair, and grey eyes, and that adorable little gap she had between her front teeth. Still, there’s something there that makes the big-brother genes in his blood return to life, slowly but surely, and Bucky supposes that if Wanda can draw parallels between him and Pietro, then he should be allowed to do the same with her and Becca.

In a way, he knows that he’s more-or-less secretly adopted the entire dance class already – even though he suspects that both Maria and Natasha alike would probably have very expressive things to say regarding having been adopted without being informed about it first. Being at dance class has begun to feel more and more like being back home in Brooklyn again, only this time with seven sisters instead of three.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

During the third week of rehearsals, they realize that they’re going to have to step up their game if they want to get the routine fully memorized in time for the show. Meeting two times a week to rehearse simply won’t cut it, and so, they decide to raise the number of practises a week to five. It means that they won’t all be able to attend every single session, but the number of sessions  _ attended  _ will increase nonetheless. And unfortunately with it, the thumping ache in Bucky’s feet.

Returning home after the fifth dance class in five days, Bucky nearly limps through the door of their apartment, wincing with every other step. The soles of his feet are pounding along with his pulse, and all he can think of is how insanely grateful he is that the tower has an elevator that goes all the way up to their floor. 

As Bucky walks into the living room, Steve is already sitting on the couch with a book in his hands. He looks up with a fond smile when Bucky walks in, and Bucky drops his gym bag onto the floor with an exhausted groan, before flopping himself down on the seat next to Steve’s own.

“Rough practice today?” Steve asks sweetly, and Bucky groans again, louder.

“I think I left a few of my toes back at the studio,” he complains, and Steve snorts as he sets his book aside.

“That rough, huh?”

“We added three steps to the last chorus and it fucked everything up,” Bucky grumbles while rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. “Then, when we changed it back, people suddenly couldn’t stop doing them. It was a mess…”

“Probably better to keep the changes to a minimum then, huh?” Steve ponders out loud. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “We’re gonna talk it through one more time on Saturday.” He groans as he sits up again, bracing his hands against the seat of the couch to inhale deeply, before standing back up with a hiss as his feet throbs with pain. “Thank fuck that’s not tomorrow,” he mutters.

“So… dancing’s still fun?” Steve asks with a teasing smirk as Bucky limps away towards the hallway.

“Best damn thing ever,” Bucky replies over his shoulder while punching the air over his head with his metal fist, and he hears Steve’s responding laugh rise from the couch just as he reaches for the doorknob to step into the bathroom.

He showers, warm and long, until the twinging pain in his feet has subsided into a mellow ache. His arms aren’t even half as bad, which maybe isn’t that strange considering that he only has half the amount of human arms as that of the majority of people. Still, bringing them up to massage shampoo into his hair does make the muscles of his right one burn a little. In a surprisingly good way, actually.

It’s a good thing Stark Tower, with it’s own energy source, is practically incapable of running out of hot water, or Bucky would have ended up using every last drop of it before he’s done. As it is, he doesn’t, and when he steps out of the bathroom, he feels rejuvenated and relaxed, as well as pleasantly tired all over.

“How are you even this sore anyway?” Steve asks once Bucky returns to the living room, with  fresh new clothes  and toweling his hair dry. “I mean, shouldn’t you be immune against that stuff, being a super-soldier and all?”

“I don’t care if you’re a  _ god _ ,” Bucky quips from within the towel as he plops himself down on the couch once more. “After five hours dancing in heels, your feet  _ will  _ hurt.” 

There’s a brief, stunned moment of silence.

“Heels?”

Bucky goes rigid. His heart skips at least half a dozen beats inside his chest, even as he continues to rub the towel over his hair. 

Fuck.

“Yeah,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can muster. He keeps toweling his head, too nervous to remove the cloth to see what kind of expression Steve’s sporting during the second silence that follows his reply.

“You keep them in the studio?” Steve asks, eventually. “Or... are they in your bag?”

“Main compartment,” Bucky replies while pretending to spend a perfectly reasonable amount of time drying off the curves and hollows of his ears.

“Can I see them?”

“Sure.”

From underneath the towel, Bucky watches Steve’s feet as he stands up from the couch and walks over to Bucky’s gym bag. As he watches Steve’s hand reach inside, Bucky’s stomach ties itself into an apprehensive knot. Slowly, he pulls the towel down around his shoulders, just as Steve straightens up and turns back to him with Bucky’s heels in his hands.

As Bucky looks on, Steve gently turns the heels over to give them a closer look, weighing them in his hands, as if Bucky’s just handed him a new gun to examine rather than a set of footwear.

“They’re nice,” he says after a while, and Bucky licks his lips.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You wear these every practice?”

“Not always,” Bucky replies. “But yeah, most of the time. It’s part of the performance,” he adds quickly when he sees Steve’s eyebrow arch. “Like a statement thing…”

“Aha,” Steve answers, as if to himself. Then he smiles, and lifts one of the shoes to let it dangle from the tip of his index finger as he looks up at Bucky. “So…” he drawls. “Do they look good on you?”

“Of course they do,” Bucky says with a huff. “You think I’d wear ’em otherwise?”

“Not really,” Steve muses. “Then again, so far I haven’t seen anything on you that hasn’t looked good.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky replies. The corners of his mouth twitch up in a brief smile at the compliment, and Steve chuckles as he returns to the couch. 

“Your idea?” he asks, holding one shoe up, and Bucky snorts as he snatches it out of Steve’s grip.

“Yeah, I forced the others to dance in heels because I like it so much,” he says sarcastically. 

“So you don’t like them, then?” Steve prompts, and Bucky’s heart makes a leap into his throat.

“They’re alright,” he says with a shrug. Steve gives him a smile and nods in silence as he leans back in his seat to look down at the one remaining shoe in his hand.

“Where did you find a pair this big?” he asks curiously.

“Ask Nat,” Bucky replies. “She’s the one who bought them. As a joke.”

“A joke that backfired a little on her, am I right?”

“I guess,” Bucky says with a chuckle. “I think she planned to get a good laugh out of watching me wobble around in those.”

“But?”

“But, as it turns out, I can walk in them just fine,” Bucky explains. He leans down and rubs at the sole of his left foot with a grimace. “And dance too, mostly.”

Steve looks down to where the tips of Bucky’s fingers are pressing into the arch of his foot, and then puts Bucky’s shoe down on the coffee table and gives his lap an encouraging little pat. “Put’em up,” he urges. “Lemme take care of that.”

Bucky lifts a surprised eyebrow at him, but does as he’s told. He arranges himself on the couch with his head propped up against the armrest, while Steve settles back to sit cross-legged in his seat with Bucky’s right foot on his knee. As the first slow press of Steve’s thumb gently digs into the hollow of his sole, Bucky gasp sharply, and then groans as he melts back against the cushions.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, that’s good…” he rasps, moaning under his breath when Steve repeats the movement to rub circles against his skin. 

“You’ve always liked it when I pamper you,” Steve muses. “You’re a bit soft that way.” 

“Shut up,” Bucky replies drowsily, eyes slipping closed. “I’m 260 pounds of lethal precision and unrelenting force. I’m no—  _ oh _ , Christ,  _ fuck _ , take it easy, will ya?”

“Quit whining,” Steve berates fondly, ignoring the way Bucky hisses and tenses up as he presses at the knot beneath Bucky’s toes. “You went through worse when you worked for Stitcher’s Groceries.”

“Trust me, that was nothing in comparison,” Bucky grits back while trying not to yank his foot away on pure reflex as Steve continues to work the knot out. “At least I got to make deliveries wearing my regular shoes. Plus, I had a bike.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “You used to ride me around in the cart on that thing. You remember that?” 

“I remember us tipping over because you wouldn’t keep still,” Bucky shoots back.

“That was the first time we tried it,” Steve argues. “And I told you we should have walked down the hill, but you insisted you could make the bend, no problem.”

“Oh, so it was my fault?”

“Yes,” Steve says flatly, lip twitching up as he locates a new spot on the outer arch of Bucky’s foot that makes Bucky’s knee twitch. Bucky ignores him, focusing his efforts on relaxing while Steve works over his poor feet. After awhile, the pain eases, and Bucky finds himself humming low in his throat in appreciation with every other stroke of Steve’s thumbs. Too soon, Steve orders him to switch feet, and Bucky obliges with a displeased grumble that turns into new moans when Steve repeats the same process on the left limb as well. 

“You’re too good to me,” Bucky declares with a happy sigh, and Steve snorts.

“Don’t be so quick to decide,” he says with a fond warning. “Maybe I just want you to owe me one?”

“Don’t worry. Whatever it is, I’ll add it to the list,” Bucky mumbles back, only to snort out a giggle when Steve retaliates by scraping a nail against the arch of his foot.

“Stop saying that,” Steve orders. “You don’t owe me a thing.” He pauses, and Bucky pries his eyes open just in time to see Steve look away from the one shoe still standing on the coffee table. “I mean, unless you wanna give me a little demonstration of those heels, of course,” he suggests with a cheeky grin. Bucky’s entire body immediately tightens up.

“What?” Steve asks, noticing the sudden shift in his body language.

“Nothing,” Bucky replies. He gasps a little as Steve manages to pinpoint a sore area between his toes. “I’d just… prefer it if I didn’t have to put those things on again today.”

“Alright,” Steve agrees, his smile quickly fading away. “No worries. I was just messing with you.”

He continues to massage Bucky’s foot in slow, soothing movements, moving from the toes all the way down to the heel. Bucky remains tense, however. He licks his lips, trying to come up with something to say, because the way Steve had just let the subject drop is making his very skin itch. Messing with him. As in… making fun of him?

“You know,” he says as he swallows thickly, glancing up at Steve’s face. “It’s just for the show. It’s not— It’s not as if I wear them outside of the studio.”

That much is true, at least, he tells himself. He's never worn the shoes out on the street, or even at home for that matter. They're for the dancing only.

Steve looks up as Bucky finishes talking, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t say anything, however, and Bucky feels his heart pick up speed inside his chest.  _ Why _ isn't Steve saying anything? What is that  _ look _ supposed to mean?

“Can you imagine that?” he says with a snort, cringing when he hears the nervous squawk that somehow finds its way into the sentence. “Me walking around town in heels? Like one of those fairies from back in the day?”

He immediately regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth. That hadn’t sounded half as demeaning inside his head, but by the time he realizes what an ass he must sound like, it’s already too late. Steve’s brow pulls together in a near-invisible frown, only to immediately smooth out into a mask of apathy as Steve looks down, breaking eye contact. 

“I mean…” Bucky continues, voice lower, “It’s not as if… men dressed as women are commonly accepted. Still.”

“It’s gotten better,” Steve points out. His voice is low, and he doesn’t look at Bucky as he says it. Bucky swallows.

“Doesn’t mean it’s all good,” he replies. “People still get beat up. Killed, even.”

“But they don’t have to hide from sight like they used to,” Steve argues. He nods towards Bucky’s shoe. “You’re planning to dance on stage in high heels at a public event in a month’s time. In heels that are actually made in your size.That someone bought without having to smuggle them to you.”

“That’s different,” Bucky counters. “I have a very specific skillset that means I can take care of myself. I can afford the attention for a one-time thing, no matter the outcome.”

“You could afford it for longer than that,” Steve murmurs. He glances at Bucky again, and his fingers slowly come to a halt as his eyes grow serious. Meeting them has Bucky’s mouth running dry, and when he tries to swallow, he finds that he can’t. 

This is the perfect moment, he realizes. He could tell Steve about it all; the heels, the underwear in the closet, the makeup… They could talk about it, properly, together. He could come clean.

Then, inside his head, he sees Steve’s gaze turn cold as he abruptly lets go of Bucky’s foot, shoving it off his lap as if it’s turned into something dead and rotten in his hands. He sees him stand up to look down at him with his lips pinched into a thin, grim line, and how he then turns and walks away, out the door. He sees himself on stage with his friends, dancing and performing in his black pumps just as they’ve planned, and in front of him, in the midst of the crowd, gapes an empty dark seat where Steve should have been. Taunting him.

“Hey.” 

Bucky snaps back into the present, blinking up at Steve when the other man cants his head to search out his gaze.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks worriedly. “You zoned out on me there for a second.”

“It’s nothing,” Bucky says quickly. He carefully tugs his foot out of Steve’s grip to put it on the floor as he turns around to face the T.V. “I just.. It’s just frustrating, you know? That people still aren’t allowed to be what they are, because of what others think. Just like we had to hide and pretend to be…  _ normal,  _ whatever that is. Sometimes it's like nothing's changed at all…”

“It is what it is,” Steve replies. He scoots closer, hesitating for a moment before putting his arm around Bucky’s shoulders to pull him in against his chest. “That said, the reason it didn’t stay the way it  _ was _ is because people refused to let it. That's why you and I have what we have today. And we're not going to give up on any of it.” He rubs his thumb back and forth over Bucky’s arm. “Right?”

“Right,” Bucky replies. He turns his head to give Steve a quick glimpse of a smile. “Always fighting the good fight, huh?”

“Always,” Steve agrees as he leans forward to press his forehead against Bucky’s in a slow gentle rub. “It’s just a different kind of war this time around.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says with a huff. “Sometimes I actually think I might prefer the old kind.”

“You mean back in the trenches?” Steve says with a snorted laugh. “Sleeping on the ground? Not bathing for weeks on end? No privacy?”

“Alright, so the bathing and privacy are pretty nice,” Bucky admits.

“Having an apartment of our own sure beats a random hotel room in Europe,” Steve agrees. “Plus, we won’t have to come up with excuses why the two of us should share a room.”

“The boys helped us out a lot, though,” Bucky says. “Or do I remember that part wrong?”

“No, you’re right, they did,” Steve says with a nod that makes both of their heads move. “And they were also pretty good… what’s the word? Enablers.”

“They were?”

“You don’t remember?” Steve says amusedly. “That time in Paris?”

“I remember  _ you _ trying to take on an entire Hydra cell by yourself outside of Rouen,” Bucky supplies sweetly. “But that was all your idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Steve says with an exasperated sigh. “And it was dumb, you’ve already told me that.”

“Several times, if I recall,” Bucky adds.

“I was actually talking about another incident,” Steve carries on, skillfully avoiding the new topic of what a risky hothead he is. “You know…” he adds more hesitantly, “that time you wore a dress?”

Bucky blinks as he slowly pulls his head back to stare at Steve in blank confusion.

“When I what?” he asks politely, and to his combined surprise and worry, Steve laughs.

“Okay, so it might have been my fault too,” he admits. “We had a day off to regroup, we went to a local bar where you guys got drunk, one joke led to the other, and…” He throws his hands out to the side in a haphazard motion, and Bucky frowns. 

“How does being drunk and joking lead up to me wearing a  _ dress? _ ” he asks suspiciously, feeling a bit more relaxed about the whole thing since Steve obviously remembers the event as funny. Steve sighs, still chuckling, and then he leans his head against the backrest with a fond look of recollection on his face.

“I don’t remember exactly how we got into it,” he starts, “but one of the boys – I think it was Jones – started talking about the waitress’ legs. Then, it was only a matter of time before you all started pulling your  pant-legs up, comparing whose calves looked most like a dame’s.” He looks over at Bucky with a smile playing in the corner of his mouth. “You won.”

Bucky snorts, shaking his head and looking away.

“Less than twenty minutes later, Dernier had managed to convince the bar owner to rent out one of his wife’s dresses, and ten minutes after that, you were dancing around our table in a pink nightgown.”

_ Pink silk. In his hands, on his skin, against his lips…  _

“You were laughing and playing along with all of it,” Steve reminisces while his lips stretch out in a dazed, goofy grin. “Draped over Dugan’s shoulder, twirling his mustache. Slapping Jones’ hand away when he tried to cop a feel…” 

“I sat on your lap,” Bucky says, suddenly with the image crystal clear inside his head. Or, at least as clear as a drunken memory could be. “You had your hands around my waist.”

Steve glances over at him, eyes sharp and attentive, and Bucky licks his lips slowly, swallowing once, before continuing, “Morita played the piano,” he says. “And we danced, you and me. You didn’t step on my feet even once.” He snorts out a laugh. “And then Dum-Dum started fishing for a kiss, and when you tried to give me one on the back of my hand to make him shut up, he asked you if I reminded you too much of your mother to kiss me properly. You blushed so hard, your face looked like a tomato.”

“Dum-Dum always tried to bring my mother into everything,” Steve says while shaking his head. “You managed to keep it together, though. You barely flinched, even though we were just messin’ with ya.”

“Guess my temper was more even then,” Bucky says with a shrug, trying not to think about what that had to have been like. An entire bar, laughing at him… 

“Or maybe you didn't care?” Steve suggests. 

“I was drunk,” Bucky points out. “Of course I didn't care. And you're one to talk,” he adds. “You’re the one who kissed me. On the lips, to boot, right there in the bar.”

“I did,” Steve admits. He reaches out and drags the back of his finger against Bucky’s stubbled cheek. “You hadn’t shaved for a while. I remember liking that.”

“I noticed,” Bucky says. “At least if what happened later at the hotel room was any indication.”

“It’s even better on you now,” Steve hums. He leans forward, and Bucky allows himself to get pushed back against the armrest of the couch when Steve slowly crawls on top of him. “Softer. Doesn’t leave as much of a burn.”

“You love the burn,” Bucky points out with a smirk, and Steve growls as he dives down to mouth at the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“I love  _ you, _ ” he says, his words muffled against Bucky’s skin. “Everything else is just a bonus.”

“Not to be like that, but that’s a pretty impressive list of bonuses.”

“And it’s still growing,” Steve purrs. He bites at Bucky’s jaw, dragging his teeth over the stubble there, making Bucky chuckle.

“As are other things,” he muses, rocking his hips up, and Steve laughs. Turning Bucky’s face a little further to the left, Steve kisses him on lips with a low groan that Bucky echoes as he goes to wrap both his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders.

He tries not to think about the shoe that's still sitting in the middle of the coffee table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

 

“God  _ dammit! _ ” Bucky exclaims loudly as he turns away from the mirror to stride back and forth across the studio floor, pulling at his hair in frustration. The others watch him pace in angry, twitchy steps, waiting patiently for him to calm down.

After a few seconds, Bucky stops, drags in a deep breath through his nose, and then returns to stand in front of the mirror once more.

“Alright, again,” he says, and the ladies share a mutual, agreeing look with each other.

“Bucky,” Natasha says, and the fact that she’s not using his last name to address him makes Bucky want to gnash his teeth.

“I can do it,” he objects, still looking at his own reflection.

“We know you can,” Jane assures him. “We— We’re just not sure you… want to.”

Bucky looks away from the mirror, straightening up.

“Of course I want to,” he says, confused. “I came up with this part, didn’t I?”

“That’s not our point,” Darcy says as she steps up to stand next to Jane. “We know you’re more than capable of performing this section, and we know that you want to dance—”

“Then what’s the problem?” Bucky demands. He looks at them all, one by one, feeling dread coil inside his stomach. “Do… Don’t  _ you _ want me to?”

“Bucky, no,” Wanda says firmly. “No, don’t you dare think that. We want nothing more than for you to dance with us.”

“Then what’s this all about?” he asks, voice rising. “You’re looking at me as if you expect me to have a mental breakdown or something. It’s just a few steps, I’ll work it out!”

“You’re not happy,” Maria says. Her voice cuts through the studio, sharp and firm, and Bucky blinks, his building anger dropping back to zero.

“What?”

“She’s right,” Pepper agrees. “You do the routine beautifully, and sure, you make a few mistakes still, but that’s not strange since we just started rehearsing this part. It’s just— You’re angry about something. We know, we can  _ tell. _ Your mind’s not focused on it, and it shows.”

Bucky stares at them. He opens his mouth to say something, but finds that he can’t. His voice sticks in the back of his throat, and when he tries to swallow, all he manages is a choked squawk. Natasha looks at him, and when he turns towards her, she sighs, stepping forward.

“If something’s wrong, you can tell us,” she says.

“Did something happen?” Darcy asks worriedly. “Did you and Steve fight or something?”

“No!” Bucky objects. “No, we haven’t— Listen, I’m  _ fine. _ ”

“No, you’re not,” Wanda says. Bucky opens his mouth to retort, but when he meets her gaze, he shuts it again because her eyes say it all. 

She knows.

It’s true that he and Steve hasn’t fought. Things at home have been quite the opposite lately; warm, fun, loving, and near-disgustingly perfect in every little way. 

It pisses him off.

And the worst part is that it’s not even Steve’s fault. He’s just responding to Bucky; to how happy he’s been lately. Because Bucky  _ has  _ been happy – truly, honestly, and ridiculously happy. The dancing has brought out another side of him that should have been destroyed by Hydra a long time ago, but survived against all odds. And he likes it. 

He likes it, just like he had liked the idea of being with Steve, back when the thought of it had first rooted itself inside his head. It’s a part of him, something that is his and his alone, and he should be glad to have discovered it again, after all this time. Only, he’s not. Not fully.

Steve should be told at some point, Bucky knows as much already. They live together, have a  _ life  _ together. There’s no possible way that Bucky can keep it a secret for long, should he even want that.

The conversation the other week had been nerve wracking, to say the least. Bucky had expected Steve to out him by asking that one question Bucky knows he wouldn’t have been able to lie about.  _ Does he like to wear women’s shoes? _ Had that question crossed Steve’s lips, Bucky would have been helpless but to reply with honesty, and when it didn’t come, he felt both relieved and deceived, all at once. 

To tell the truth, not telling Steve is slowly wearing Bucky down for a number of reasons. He doesn’t want to keep secrets from Steve, of any kind. Yet, to come clean about this new (old) thing without knowing how Steve is going to react terrifies him something terribly.

They haven’t talked about it again. Even though every time Steve asks him how practice went, Bucky gets the feeling that he’s actually asking him about something else. 

_ How’d practice go? Did you wear the heels today?  _

_ Did you like it? _

Bucky wants to tell Steve yes. He wants to tell the man he loves all about how wearing these damn shoes makes him feel; how complete, strong, and graceful he gets when he dances with them on. Just like the underwear back home made him feel pretty and desirable. Sexy.

So far, he hasn’t told Steve anything, and whenever the topic of the show and Bucky’s footwear comes up, Bucky jokes it away. Steve lets him, which is even more infuriating. For the first time, in a very,  _ very  _ long time, Bucky simply wishes that Steve would grab him by the collar, shove him up against the nearest wall, and demand to be told what’s going on. 

Then, maybe, Bucky would finally be able to tell him the truth; that he doesn’t want it to be a stage-only thing. That some days, he just wakes up and wants to feel the touch of a soft cotton skirt grace the skin of his thighs, or experience the tight fit of a corset around his waist. 

With every passing day, the memories are returning to him, more and more vivid. How he used to steal quick glimpses among his sisters’ makeup when they weren’t home. How he had spent hours looking at their shoes in the hallway; the dresses in their closets… 

He had never once tried to wear them. They weren’t his. It would have been wrong, in more ways than what just for him to wear a dress in the first place would have been wrong. 

Becca had known something was up, though. Bucky’s fairly convinced of it. She had looked at him sometimes when they were out shopping, when his mother had insisted he come along to help his sister carry the shopping bags. Becca had asked for his opinions on every single dress pattern they saw while prompting him to touch the fabrics, to help her pick the styles and colors…  

Yeah, she had known… She must have. Because as he stands there, meeting Wanda’s gaze from across the room, he realizes that Becca’s eyes had been the same. The same sorrow shining through as she looks at him; sorrow for  _ his  _ sake.

Bucky groans, bringing his hands up to rub the heels of them into his eyes. 

“It’s complicated,” he grates. He can feel the wet burn of tears as they well up behind his eyelids even as he speaks, and he grits his teeth with a hiss, fighting them back. He knows that the others are watching him; concerned and worried, and it makes him want to curl up in a ball and hide as much as it makes him want to bury his fist through the nearest drywall.

“Talk to us,” he hears Jane plead, closer than before. When the soft touch of a hand settles on his shoulder, he flinches, his muscles bunching into knots underneath his skin, but Jane doesn’t move the hand away. “Bucky, it’s okay. We’re right here. It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not,” he whispers. His voice sounds thick as he speaks, and once again when he tries to swallow, he finds that he’s unable to.

“Bucky.”

It’s Wanda. And then, she’s right there, standing next to him inside his head with her hand resting lightly against his temple.

_ The decision is yours, _ she tells him softly, but Bucky shakes his head – both mentally and physically. _. _

_ I can’t, _ he breathes.

_ Why not? _ she asks as she tilts her head to the side with a concerned frown.  _ What are you so afraid of? _

_ Everything.  _ He squeezes his eyes shut harder, breathing in through his nose.  _ I’m scared of everything that might change with me if I do. _

_ What if the change is for the better then? _ Wanda asks.  _ What if it’ll make you happier?  _

_ What if it won’t? _

_ Then you have to decide what you’d rather have. To be unhappy the way you are now. Or unhappy because you told the truth. _

Slowly, Bucky opens his eyes to look at her where she stands, a burning, warm light reaching into the coldest, most closed-off corners of his mind. He leans into the palm of her hand when she strokes her thumb over his cheekbone, and he knows that he’s crying now, even though he can’t tell if it’s only in here, or out in the real world too. He can feel the tear slowly drip down his cheek to where Wanda’s hand presses against his face, and the wet burn feels like it’s leaving scorching streaks across his skin.

_ I don’t want to lose this. _

He doesn’t have to clarify what he means. She can see it as clearly as he can think it; the studio, the dancing, Steve’s smiling face, and the red streak of lipstick as it presses softly against the curve of his own mouth.

_ You won’t, _ Wanda promises, and Bucky’s breath catches as he feels her physical,  _ real  _ hand layer itself over the phantom touch already inside his head.  _ This is a safe place for all of us. And we won’t let you lose anything. _

She nudges his chin up, and smiles at him.  _ You can do this. _

Then, she slowly lets him go, and he's back in the studio, perhaps only a few second since he first closed his eyes. As he opens them –  _ really  _ opens them, this time – Wanda is indeed standing right in front of him, still smiling.

He looks at her, and then turns to look at Jane. She hasn't removed her hand from atop his shoulder, and Bucky slowly reaches up and wraps his fingers around hers, squeezing lightly, before letting her go again to step out of her reach.

He looks down at the floor. At his feet. He's got his black pumps on, as it has become a regular occurrence during practice, and he swallows hard, dragging for breath.

“When I was sixteen, I… asked my sister how she could walk in heels without falling over. She told me—” He clears his throat, sniffing. “She told me, the reason she didn't fall, was because she was the one walking the shoes. Not the other way around. I didn't understand what she meant. At least not until I got a pair of my own.”

He looks up at them, forcing himself to, but even though he intends to look at them all, his gaze stops at Maria and then refuses to move any further. She’s look looking right back at him, her face blank. That void helps, for some strange reason, and Bucky nods as he swallows again.

“It was risky,” he continues. “I didn't realize exactly  _ how _ risky until almost a year later, but at the time, I was too curious to care. I had heard about this store in the city, in one of those neighborhoods you don't want anyone to see you go, and I… I went. I bought a pair of women’s shoes. My size with a high heel and rounded toe. They were dark blue.”

His throat bobs, and he turns his gaze back down to his feet as he turns his right ankle to look at the heel from the side.

“They weren't as high, and they didn't fit as well as these do. But they were mine, and I wore them whenever I was alone. In secret. Once I dared to admit to myself that I liked it, it was only a matter of time before I went back, looking for more.”

He snorts out a laugh, but it ends up sounding more like a sob. “I had forgotten all about it,” he confesses. “The shoes, the clothes, the makeup… I couldn't remember a thing, until I put these on. Like a key in a lock, slowly turning.” 

He brings his hands up to hold out his shirt by the hemline, looking down at it. “Some days, this feels right,” he tries to explain. “And other days, it feels all wrong. Like a disguise, just like it did back then, and I don't— I'm not sure if I can stand hiding it all a second time.”

He goes quiet as he lets the shirt drop. The words fail him, and he can't bring himself to say anything else. It's too much, and if the women around him don’t understand what he’s talking about by now, then he might as well give up trying to clarify it.

So instead, he stands there while looking down at his shoes, remembering the first time he put those blue heels on inside that store. In the tiny little room in the back, where the proprietor had been a man with traces of polish lingering on the edge of his nails as he had accepted the crumpled-up bills out if Bucky's hand.

To his surprise, Pepper is the one who speaks first.

He hears her take a breath, sharp and loud in the sudden quiet of the studio, and then, how she holds it for a second or two before slowly letting it back out. 

“Oh, Bucky…” 

Bucky hears her move, stepping closer, and then he feels her arms circle his shoulders as she pulls him in against her chest. He lets her, and he obediently rests his forehead against her shoulder when she urges it down to gently brush her open palm over the top of his head. She’s warm, Bucky notes. Like a heater.

“You won’t have to hide,” he hears her murmur softly. “Not here. Not from us.”

“She’s right,” Natasha says. “You have nothing to be ashamed of here, or anywhere else.” She pauses. “Does Steve know?” 

“No one knows,” Bucky rasps out, closing his eyes as another set of footsteps approach him. When he feels the familiar touch of Darcy’s fingers wiggle in between the metal of his own, he presses his face tighter against Pepper’s shoulder to smother the helpless noise that threatens to claw its way out of his throat. He doesn’t move his own arms to touch any of them back. Doesn’t dare to.

“Tell us what you want us to do, Bucky,” Sharon urges from somewhere over Pepper’s shoulder, and Bucky is just about to straighten up to answer her when another voice has him freezing in the middle of the movement.

“No.”

“Maria!” Sharon hisses, with a voice sharper than any blade Bucky’s ever held in his hands. Once he finally brings himself to look up, he finds that everyone is glaring at Maria, who in turn is looking straight at Bucky with her arms crossed over her chest.

“What do you mean by ‘no’?” Natasha asks her slowly. She sounds deceptively calm, and everyone in the room goes rigid. All except Maria.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” she answers calmly. Slowly, she lets her arms drop to her sides as she takes a slow, tentative step to where Pepper is still cradling Bucky in her arms, as if to keep Maria from getting too close. 

“Don’t tell us what you want,” Maria says. She stops in front of Bucky, and her tone suddenly goes soft as she continues, “Tell us what you  _ need. _ ”

Bucky frowns at her. What he needs? 

“I don’t— What do you mean?” he asks.

“To say that you  _ want  _ something makes it sounds selfish,” Maria clarifies. “Something material and insignificant, and that’s not what this is. This is something that you  _ need. _ Something which, if you’re left without it, will make your life considerably worse, right?”

She looks him in the eye as she speaks, keeping his gaze locked with hers, and slowly, he understands what it is she’s telling him. It’s a way of thinking that he hasn’t considered before, but now, as he hears it, it does make sense.

This is not something that he wants, for some selfish, convenient reason. This is something that he  _ must  _ have. He  _ must _ , because the mere thought about going through the rest of his life denying himself this… 

Slowly, he nods, and his shoulders lose tension as the rigid posture of Pepper’s body relax against him. He can feel Darcy’s thumb smooth over the back of his hand, and suddenly he feels as if he’s going to start crying all over again. He doesn’t, although how he manages to keep the tears in his eyes from falling, he has no idea. Instead, he sniffs once, and drags the back of his right hand over his nose in a quick, hurried movement, before straightening up.

Everyone is watching him, but their eyes are kind and warm when they meet his, and for the hundredth time in less than a month, Bucky finds himself silently asking what the hell he ever managed to do to deserve friends like this.

“I, uh…” he starts hoarsely, without really knowing what to say. “I don’t— I mean, things are so different now, I have no idea what would be considered a reasonable start?”

“Then let’s start with what you already have,” Sharon suggests. She nods towards his feet. “You’ve got the shoes, obviously. What else?”

“I— I bought some… makeup,” Bucky confesses. “Lipstick and eyeliner.”

“That’s good,” Darcy says while nodding in approval. “Can’t go wrong with eyeliner. Anything else?”

Bucky looks down at the floor, his ears burning hot. He’s not sure if telling them about his panty-stash in the closet at home would be considered too much information at this point, but since they’re asking… He’s already gone this far, after all. To not come clean about everything would be downright counterproductive.

“I bought underwear,” he murmurs under his breath. He glances up, expecting giggles and joking glances, but no one even raises an eyebrow at his announcement, so he continues, “Like… the lacy kind.”

“You went to a store for those?” Natasha asks, sounding impressed.

“No, I found them online,” Bucky admits. He shrugs. “Figured if you could find me shoes that way…”

“But what, that’s it?” Jane asks in genuine surprise. “That’s all you have?”

“I haven’t exactly been doing this long,” Bucky points out, a bit offended. “I’m basically starting over from scratch here, remember?”

Maria looks at him, eyebrow arched. “Sounds to me like you could use a shopping trip.”

“Oh, yes, shopping!” Pepper says enthusiastically, and Bucky stares at them.

“What?  _ Shopping? _ ” he asks. “As in…  _ ladies’ _ shopping?”

“Of course,” Maria says. Then she smirks at him. “After all, everyone needs a little black dress, and I didn’t hear you list one of those.”

“That’s because I didn’t,” Bucky confirms. He narrows his eyes at her, unsure of what exactly it is that she’s implying. 

“Well, don’t you want one?” Maria asks pointedly

“Why, I— I mean, I… I’ve never tried one,” he settles with a stutter. “Little black dresses weren’t exactly fashion back when I, uh… you know.”

“Well,” Darcy declares, slinging an arm around his neck while patting him on the chest with her other hand. “Good news is, you don’t have to go to any shady fashion-peddling fence to find one of those in your size, nowadays.”

“And the bad news?” Bucky asks hesitantly, only to have Darcy grin back at him. 

“The bad news,” she muses, “is that shopping alone ain’t really an option these days either. Not when you’ve got friends like us.”

“I’ll start the car,” Nat announces, only to be stopped by Pepper as she reaches out to grab Nat by the arm, phone already raised to her ear.

“I’ve got a better idea,” she declares firmly, and Bucky’s not sure if the smile he gives when she turns to wink at him is one of joy or one of absolute dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

 

The limo Pepper calls for them has a minibar. With neon lights and a snack fridge. 

Bucky barely has time to get his ass in one of the couch-like seats in the back before someone thrusts a glass of something bright and bubbly in his hand, urging him to drink. Bucky’s never been one to turn down free liquor, and after the first sip, he concludes that whatever it is, he’ll gladly drink an entire bottle of it should they want him to.

Pepper and Darcy spend the first ten minutes of the ride with their heads bent down over their phones, typing away and pointing at each other’s screens with little cries of excitement. Bucky has no idea what they’re doing, but he doesn’t really care either. The ladies in the limo are all happy, animated, and he can’t help but be swept away by the mood where he sits, squeezed in between them as they continue to plan out what to do with the rest of their improvised shopping trip.

Their first stop is some kind of spa facility, and Bucky allows himself to be dragged out of the limo (after having emptied his glass, of course) and into the salon by the other seven passengers without complaints. There’s a bit of a hustle as Pepper explains to the personnel what it is they want, and then, Bucky is being led to and plopped into a chair by a tiny, elderly lady with a firm, but gentle grip. Without any further ado, she proceeds to undo his gym sneakers – that he had changed into before leaving the studio – and cordially orders his feet into a basin of warm water that’s sitting on the floor below his seat. Bucky knows better than to tell a woman with hands like that no, so he does as told, while around the room, the rest of his friends are given the same treatment by the other staff members.

For the first time in his life, Bucky gets to experience a pedicure, and it is  _ beyond  _ heavenly. It’s a bit weird to have a complete stranger touch his feet, but after a while, he manages to relax enough to enjoy the treatment. The little lady who’s taken place on a wooden stool in front of his basin works his feet over with hands that could have rivaled the vise of Steve’s grip, easily. She’s a lot more skilled, however, and by the time the pedicure is over, Bucky’s convinced that his feet has never felt as light, or smooth, in his life.

Turns out that they’re not done with just his feet, however, as a younger girl immediately guides him to another desk and places his right hand on top of it. Here, they repeat the same process as with his feet; cleaning, trimming, massaging, the works. Then, they also apply a coat of clear nail polish to his fingernails that makes them look sleek and shiny. He has to wait for the others to finish, however, seeing as he has one less set of nails to get done, but as compensation, the manicurist gives his middle finger a decorative rhinestone in the shape of a star. It gleams as he turns his hand over in the sunlight streaming in through the window, and he finds himself smiling at the little twinkle of silver it sends shooting into his eyes.

Once the manicure and pedicure are done, it’s back in the limo again, and Pepper and Darcy immediately get into an argument about where to head next. Pepper wins, and Bucky allows himself to be led into yet another store, only to freeze solid the moment he realizes where they are.

It’s a make-up store.

Noticing his hesitation, Pepper gives his shoulder a little nudge.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Bucky replies hoarsely. His eyes flicker between the shelves, which all look more exclusive and luxurious than those of the department store Bucky had visited by himself. And a lot more intimidating.

“You want to leave?” Pepper asks softly. “Because we can.”

He meets her eye, and then looks back out over the shelves of lipstick, foundation, mascara, eyeshadows, and god-knows-what everything is called.  

“No,” he decides. “No, I wanna stay.”

He smiles at her, and she smiles back. Then, she flags down a member of the staff, and next thing, Bucky finds himself with his ass planted in yet another chair, only this time, in front of a large mirror, with a man by his side who has the most flawless skin Bucky’s ever laid eyes on.

The man, whose name is Casey, talks to him about his bone structure, about the shape of his forehead, his jaw, his nose. He explains about different skin tones, and of seasonal colors (Bucky’s apparently a summer-autumn hybrid, who knew?) and compliments him on the shape of his lips until the color of Bucky’s ears mimic the shade of the lipstick in Casey’s hand.

To demonstrate his theories, Casey then gives Bucky a makeover in something that he calls a ‘natural look’. It involves a modest dab of concealer, followed by foundation, eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow, contouring, and a little bit of tinted lip-gloss. When it’s all done, Bucky can’t imagine having ever looked more  _ unnatural  _ in his life. 

Then again, as Bucky leans in to look at himself in the mirror, he has to admit that it doesn’t look… bad. It’s just that he’s not used to seeing his skin look so  _ smooth _ . Or his eyes so defined. It’s a bit weird. 

Still, when the time comes to leave, Bucky does so with a brand new and rather expensive arsenal of products that he hadn’t even realized he’d want to own until that exact moment. The ladies offer to buy them for him, but Bucky refuses. He wants to buy these things for himself. It’s not as if he uses his money for anything specific anyway…

The first few minutes outside of the store are apprehensive beyond belief. Bucky keeps expecting people to stare at him, to laugh and point at his face. He spends the first block they walk down in search of a place to eat with his muscles tense, and with his senses on edge in a way that he normally reserves for the battlefield. After fifteen minutes has passed, and the worst thing he’s received is the nonchalant glance of a teenager who happened to look up from her phone as she walked past them, he begins to relax, however. This is New York, after all, and if a guy can’t walk around with a little bit of makeup on his face  _ here _ , then he can’t do it anywhere. And Bucky happens to know _ for a fact  _ (thanks YouTube) that guys  _ do  _ wear makeup outside of the Big Apple in this time and age.

They find what Bucky assumes is the high-end version of a hamburger joint a few blocks down from the makeup store, and Bucky doesn’t realise how hungry he is until the enticing smell of French fries comes wafting through the air.

The burgers are delicious, and even Jane, who owns the smallest appetite of the group when it comes to food, manages to devour her entire burger before she realises that she’s actually full since five mouthfuls back. 

When he’s done, Bucky makes the fatal amatuer mistake of wiping his mouth with his napkin, remembering all-too-late that by doing so, he also wipes off half of his makeup. The panic only lasts for a few seconds. Then, Maria helps him re-apply his base, using some of the products he just bought, and Nat holds up the mirror for him while Bucky administers a new, sleek sheen of lip gloss on his lips.

Their reactions all come so naturally, without even a moment’s hesitation – as if Bucky’s worn lip gloss and foundation since always – one could think that this is just another day out on the town together for them. As Bucky puts his makeup back into the bag, he finds himself wishing that it will always feel like this from now on. 

“So,” Sharon says once they’ve paid for their meals. “You ready to break out the big guns?”

“You don’t think I own enough of those?” Bucky jokes, and Sharon laughs. 

“Maybe,” she agrees as they stop to wait for Pepper to finish the call for the limo to come pick them up. “But this is what you’ve been waiting for, right? The clothes? Some more shoes?”

“In a way,” Bucky admits. “But it’s also the scariest part.”

“I can imagine.” She looks at him. “But you don’t have to worry. You don’t have to do it alone this time.”

“I know,” Bucky promises. “And I’m grateful for that. You guys have been so nice to me, helping me with all this stuff, I— I don’t know how I’m supposed to repay you.”

“You just keep creating choreography for dance class, and we can call it even,” Sharon says, waving him away. Bucky bites his lip to stifle a grin as he turns to give her a playful shove in the side. Words, it seems, have a tendency to escape him today.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

They spend the three hours after lunch alternating between everything from thrift stores to high-end boutiques, all over town.

Bucky has no idea what kind of clothes he’s looking for, or where to look for them, for that matter, but luckily for him, he’s accompanied by seven personal shoppers.

The basic garments don’t really differ much from that of men’s clothing, really. The models, however, do. Not only when it comes to size – seriously, the fashion industry shouldn't be allowed to use the term  _ ‘standard _ ’ for  _ anything _ , ever – but in other, even more infuriating areas as well. By the time Bucky tries on his seventh pair of denims, only to realize that the pockets of these are  _ also _ fake, he declares with a passion that he’s going to track down every last designer who ever decided fake pockets were a good idea, and strangle them to death with a pair of their own jeans.

To be fair, they spend most of their time inside the stores  _ looking  _ at the clothes more than they do buying them, just to give Bucky a chance to feel like he has the right to  _ be _ there in the first place. Bucky's grateful for it, he really is, and he’s relieved to find that looking at women's clothing doesn't even earn him a weird look from the other shoppers. Even though, him being surrounded by women might have something to do with that… Either way, no one comments on the fact that he’s one guy shopping for dresses with seven women, or the fact that sometimes the seven women are the ones prompting  _ him  _ to try the dresses on. The store clerks are polite, helpful, and never side-eye him for anything, no matter what he asks them for.

Maria turns out to be a godsend in that regard. She always seems to know exactly what to suggest, which details to add to make the outfit look its best, without them having to get the store personnel involved at all. 

When she brings him his first dress, however, Bucky momentarily freezes up. He just stands there with the dress in his hand, for a few seconds completely clueless as to what to do with it. Then, Maria gently ushers him inside the fitting room and closes the drape, keeping light conversation while Bucky pulls his shirt over his head to replace it with the dress. When she hears him struggle to pull the zipper up behind his own back, she simply reaches her hand through the split in the drape and gestures for him to come close enough so that she can help him. 

Once he's done, and he turns to take his first proper look at himself in the mirrors, he almost forgets how to breathe for a second.

The dress looks amazing. 

It's a dark red fit-and-flare model, with a black band running across the midsection, giving the illusion that he’s wearing a cincher on top of the wine-colored fabric. The knee-length flared skirt also accentuates his hips in a way that makes him wish he had his high heels on, just to see the effect they'd give the dress as he walks.

“Man, I wish I looked that good in a dress,” Jane says enviously as Bucky opens the door to show them the result.

“What are you talking about,” Wanda mumbles, “you  _ do  _ look that good in a dress.”

“Hopefully, she actually looks  _ better _ ,” Bucky says with a smirk as he turns back to the mirror.

“Oh, shut up,” Darcy orders fondly. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” Bucky answers, trying not to fidget as he continues to adjust and pull at the fabric of the skirt.

“Honestly, that dress is so cute, and so hot, it sort of makes me wanna kiss the back of your hand and grab your ass, all at once,” Natasha confesses with an impressed glance up and down his body, and Bucky pauses to give her reflection a long, firm look. 

“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m not saying I’m  _ gonna. _ ”

Bucky snorts while shaking his head as he smoothes his palms down the sides of his hips one more time. The dress has pockets, he notes, and as he slips his hands inside of them, he hears a zealous chorus of, “Oh, pockets!” rise from behind his back.

He gives another turn inside the cubicle, looking at himself from different angles. 

“Do you like it?” Maria asks from over his shoulders, and Bucky smiles.

“I do,” he admits, before continuing in a murmur, “It's just too bad I can't wear it in public. It's comfortable.”

“Of course you can wear it in public,” Sharon says, and when Bucky turns to give her a horrified stare, she sighs. “Bucky, I know this is all new and scary for you. But the truth is that this is becoming more-or-less commonplace now. Guys wear makeup. They wear heels, and skirts, use handbags. Sure, it's not considered  _ masculine _ , but that doesn't stop people from doing it.”

“Sharon's right,” Jane says. “You're the one who showed us the three guys dancing in heels, remember?”

“The trans-community has grown so much lately,” Sharon continues. “Transgender people are given more and more space to live in society as they should have from the start. There's no reason for you to be ashamed to be part of it.”

“Transgender?” Bucky asks, confused, and Sharon blinks.

“Yeah,” she says. “As in… men and women who identify as another gender than the one assigned to them at birth. Or neither. Or both.”

“I'm not a woman,” Bucky says, perhaps a bit too sharply, and when he sees the look of confused guilt that flashes across Sharon's face, he sighs, turning around to face them. 

“I'm a guy,” he says, pointing to himself. “In a dress. I wear makeup in secret because it makes me feel pretty. I like these clothes because they feel nice, and make  _ me _ feel good. I'm not unhappy with what I got between my legs, or with the way my body looks.” He raises his left arm. “Not even this part. I like the way these clothes and shoes make me  _ feel _ . Not how, or what, they make me look like.”

“You're a cross-dresser,” Wanda concludes, and when Bucky frowns, she clarifies, “What they used to call transvestites.”

“I'm a tranny?” Bucky asks, reeling back a little when seven pairs of eyes turn to glare at him. “What?”

“It's not called that anymore,” Jane explains patiently. “To be fair,” she adds with a contemplative frown, “I'm not sure exactly  _ what _ it's called nowadays.”

“It's a slippery slope,” Natasha agrees. “Some people say transvestite while referring to themselves, but would never say it to someone else because it's considered offensive and demeaning. The term ‘Cross-dresser’ works the same way.”

“So I'm not allowed to use  _ any _ word?” Bucky asks with wide eyes. “Then how the hell am I supposed to explain this to people?”

“You use whatever term you want to describe what you are,” Darcy says firmly. “Your identity is not for others to dictate, and I will personally taze whatever asshole who tries to tell you differently.”

“It's true, she will,” Jane agrees. 

“Well, I'm not a girl, that's for sure,” Bucky says, turning again to look at himself in the mirror. “Not that I won't let you guys joke about it,” he adds with a quirk of his lips. “Like, call me a dame for fun, ask me if I’ve got my panties in a twist, that kind of stuff. But if I hear any of that from some random stranger on the street, they will end up with five metal knuckles to the face unless I get an apology.”

“And a heeled boot up the ass,” Nat supplies with a smirk. Bucky smiles back, and then throws his arms out to the side.

“I'm just me,” he declares simply. He twists around to look at his reflection in the mirror one more time. “And I'm buying this dress.” 

“Awesome,” Darcy muses.

Bucky steps backwards to allow Wanda to unzip him, but as the crunch of the zipper reaches his ears, a thought suddenly strikes him.

“Hey,” he murmurs towards Pepper. “I was thinking… Do we have time for one more store?”

“I think so,” she replies with a quick glance at her wrist watch. “The limo arrives in about an hour, so it depends where you wanna go?”

“I was just thinking if we, uh… If we could maybe go check out something for me to wear… for the show?”

“You wanna change your costume?” Maria asks.

“Yes,” Bucky replies, turning around to face the group as a whole. “And no.”

“Sounds interesting,” Natasha decides. 

“I had an idea that maybe, if we start the number like we've planned it,” Bucky explains, “that maybe we could incorporate a costume change somewhere around the final transition?”

“Go on,” Maria says.

“We might have to get some sewing done to the clothes I have,” Bucky warns, “but… I think it could be pretty cool.”

The ladies look at each other, and Bucky thinks he spots Wanda and Darcy exchange a brief, mutual smile, before Sharon opens her mouth.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” she declares. “What do you have in mind?”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

They wrap the day up with a trip to a nearby shooting range.

They decide not to use their regular one, seeing as Bucky's still in makeup, and also sporting a brand new pair of short-shorts, which according to Maria shows off his thighs most beautifully. He's also wearing a new tank top in white with the words  _ what _ and  _ ever _ written across the chest in bold black letters, along with a pair of wedges in soft, brown leather that they picked up in one of the thrift stores. For anonymity, he's wearing his black track-suit jacket from the gym on top, because even though walking around town with his arm out is one thing, the odds of being recognized in this setting are higher.

He feels like a million bucks nonetheless, of course, but he's already made it clear that he's not ready to be called out in this outfit quite yet. Being part of S.H.I.E.L.D and The Avengers, they all have access to the government's official shooting ranges, but today, they don't intend to shoot for practice. Today is about having fun, and everything appears to go in exactly that direction, up until they set foot on the actual gun range.

As they enter the range’s safety zone, Bucky immediately wants to turn around and head out the same way they came. There, standing along the barricades, are six men. They're all dressed in various degrees of tactical gear, with a number of seemingly private-owned guns and rifles already lined up in front of them in their respective booths. When Bucky and the others make their entrance, all the men turn to look at them curiously.

It's not until their gazes fall on Bucky that they begin to snicker. Bucky promptly wishes for the ground to open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole as he discreetly tucks his left hand into his pocket.

He doesn't let it show, of course. It takes more than a few pointed fingers to make the former Winter Soldier visibly lose his composure, and he keeps his back straight and his head held high as he and the ladies begin to prep on the other end of the barricades. 

Unlike the guys, they hadn't brought their own gear. Bucky hadn't wanted to go back to the tower, and they had agreed that they could make due with the range’s selection of firearms, just this once. The equipment here, of course, is nowhere near the quality of the weapons most of them are used to handling. Bucky can spot a thousand things that could easily be improved and altered about them after a single glance, but they work well enough for what they have planned, so he doesn't make a big deal out of it.

They don't even get time to shoot their first round before one of the guys from the other group approaches them. 

He’s tall, broad across the shoulders, and the Helikon-Tex pants he's sporting are actually the real deal. The military-style tac vest he's wearing, on the other hand, is an obvious rip-off. Though, Bucky suspects that the guy doesn’t know that.

Mr. Tac-Gear introduces himself as Matt as he directs his attention towards Nat first. He asks if they're new around here, and if they've handled guns before – the standard, clichéd pickup-lines – and Nat replies that this is indeed their first time here, and that they do have some past experience with guns, yes.

She smiles as she says it, batting her eyes and tucking her hair behind her ear, and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning when the guy takes the bait.

Matt laughs, and gives a generous (as well as slightly insulting) offer to instruct them. Maria tells him with a bright smile that she thinks they'll manage. Then she slaps her hand over Bucky's shoulder, and announces that, “We've got the best gun-man in town with us, already.”

Bucky smiles at her, making sure to pour every ounce of  _ ‘what the hell are you doing?’ _ into it. Maria just continues to smirk, and Matt turns his eye on Bucky to look him up and down skeptically. 

“Gun-man, huh?” he says slowly. “You that good?”

“I get by,” Bucky replies with a modest shrug.

“What, you hunt or something?”

“Used to,” Bucky lies. “But it's been awhile since I had to shoot something.”

He comes stumbling close to say some _ one, _ but Matt’s not really paying him any attention anymore, so it doesn’t matter much. Before Bucky has finished his sentence, Matt is already sizing up Pepper, then Darcy, who's chewing her bubble gum with slow, lazy movements of her jaw.

“Hey, Matt!” comes the gleeful shout from the other group. “Are you gonna ask them or what?”

Nat raises her eyebrow, and Matt grins while rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand. “Yeah, uhm… My friends and I were thinking maybe you girls would be interested in a little friendly game of target shooting?” he says, ignoring the way both Sharon and Wanda turn to glance at Bucky at the mention of ‘you  _ girls _ ’.

“A game?” Natasha asks with a flirtatious squint. “You mean like a bet?”

“Yeah,” Matt replies cheerfully, white teeth gleaming. “Exactly. Nothing big, just for fun.”

“Why not big?” Sharon cuts in as he steps up to put her arms around Natasha’s shoulders. “You guys don't think we're up to the challenge?”

“Yeah,” Pepper cuts in. “Let’s raise the stakes a little. I mean, unless you think you'll lose?”

She sends Matt a challenging quirk of her eyebrow, and Bucky honestly pitties the poor guy for his inflated ego when Matt immediately straightens up with a huff. The pity, however, only lasts up until the guy opens his mouth.

“You girls really think you can beat us?” he asks. The sentence is innocent enough, but the way he says it makes the relays in Bucky's arm whirr as Bucky tightens his hand into a fist inside his pocket.

“I think we can wipe the range with you,” he says flatly, and Matt snickers.

“So what's your suggestion then?” he asks cockily. Natasha looks at the rest of the group over Matt’s shoulder, and Bucky knows without having to ask that she's looking at their weaponry. Manufacturers, sights, clip capacity, specialized equipment, and the generous amount of grip tape that’s wrapped around the stocks of their pistols.

“If we win,” she decides, “you pay our shooting fee.”

“Okay,” Matt says slowly. “And what if you lose?”

“If we lose, we pay your ammo.”

Bucky blinks, and Matt chokes down a laugh. 

“Nearly all of us shoot the new Elite Special Ammo from Sig Sauer,” he points out. He says the name as if he doesn't expect them to know what the hell he's talking about, but that he's doing them a favor by educating them as he adds, “It's  _ very  _ expensive.”

“I know,” Nat says flatly. “That's why if you  _ do _ manage to win, you deserve something a little extra for your trouble.”

“It's your funeral,” Matt agrees with a shrug. He sends a taunting look at Bucky's manicured hand. “Just make sure to watch those nails, will ya? The shotgun has a a bit of a kick.”

“You worry about your aim,” Wanda says with a challenging glare. “Our nails will be just fine.”

“If you say so,” Matt promises, before turning towards Natasha. “Three sets,” he declares. “Two pistols, one rifle. Five rounds each.”

“You got it,” Nat agrees.

“You guys want us to get club weapons too?” he offers. “To even the odds?”

“Nah,” she says with a nonchalant flick of her wrist. “That'll be too easy. After all,” she adds, “we gotta give you guys a fighting chance.”

Matt looks at her, long and steady. Then he snorts out a laugh as he turns back around to return to his friends, who are all eagerly awaiting the results of the negotiations.

“Easy win,” Bucky hears him say as he high-fives the hands that are offered upon his return to the group. Bucky clenches his jaw with a menacing glare in their direction, before picking up one of the guns from the table and racking the slide to check its chamber.

“C’mon,  _ girls _ ,” he says, before allowing the slide to cock back with a sharp snap of metal. “Let's show these jerks how to shoot some targets.” 

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

It’s not even a contest. Maria and Sharon both shoot bullseyes on everything without even trying. Wanda has a minor setback with her first shot of the rifle, but after a few pointers, the following shots all end up within the center of the target. Pepper shoots flawlessly, even though she takes longer to aim than Maria and Sharon. Jane requires a bit more theoretical education first, but she listens well, and when she's done with her three sets and turns around to smile at him, Bucky experiences a warm, fuzzy sensation inside his chest of pure, shameless pride. Darcy, on her end, treats the guns with the same beaming sense of joy and enthusiasm as she does everything else. She handles the rifle like she had been born with it cocked and ready in her hands, which also shows on the pattern of her hits, once her rounds are up.

Nat shoots her sets last. By that time, the guys in the other group have begun to mutter amongst themselves while throwing sour looks at their own targets and comparing them to the ones Bucky's team has already shot. Especially Matt looks as if he's trying to swallow down something exceptionally acrid as Natasha picks up the first of the two guns and aims it at the target. Then, right before she shoots, she turns her head to the side, gives Matt a one-eyed wink, before emptying her clip dead-center of the target, hundred yards down the range.

“Show off,” Bucky mumbles out of the corner of his mouth as she hands him the empty clip to be refilled.

“As if you wouldn't have done the same?” Nat counters sweetly, and Bucky smirks and shrugs, because yeah, he probably would have.

“Aren't you shooting, B-B?” Darcy asks, and Bucky pauses with a round halfway into the clip to give her an amused look from underneath his bangs.

_ “B-B?” _ he repeats.

“Yeah, B-B,” she says, as if it's the most obvious thing ever. “Those are your initials, aren't they?”

“You wanna call me  _ B-B? _ ” Bucky prompts, upon which Darcy puts her hands on her hips, snorting.

“I'll start calling you Bed'n Breakfast, if you don't watch it,” she threatens. “Now answer the question, are you shooting or not?”

“I hadn't planned to,” Bucky admits. He glances at the men of the other group. “They look pretty beat already.”

“Oh, c’mon, you  _ have to, _ ” Darcy urges him, before sending the guys a dirty look over her shoulder. “Those guys obviously think they shoot better than you simply because of how you’re dressed. Idiots.”

“Just watch out for that shotgun-kick,” Pepper warns him jokingly, and Bucky snorts out a laugh.

“You guys really think I should?” he asks. As one, the ladies turn their heads to look down the line of the barricade just in time to see one of the guys point to Bucky's heeled shoes and whisper something to the others with a grin.

“Oh, yeah,” Jane decides.

“Definitely,” Wanda agrees.

Bucky shrugs as he pops the final round into the clip, before shoving it into the magazine well of the gun. “Guess I better use my left then,” he declares as he steps behind the protective barrier of the gun booth.

“Why?” Pepper asks with a frown, and Bucky smirks, shifting the gun to his left hand to aim down the range at the final, untouched target.

“Well,” he says soberly. “Can't exactly risk ruining my nails, now, can I?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

 

Bucky expects things to be different at dance class after his great reveal, and it turns out that he's right. Things  _ are _ different, although, not in the way he had been expecting them to be.

It's a subtle change, really. Like him being able to talk freely about how his eyeliner keeps getting crooked on the left eye, but not on the right. Or how at one rehearsal Jane casually hands him a free foundation sample, because she had accidentally been sent duplicates in the mail.

Other than that, everything remains exactly the same. Bucky had honestly been slightly worried that he would feel different – less like  _ him _ , in some way – after allowing himself this new kind of freedom, but it honestly feels like the opposite. He feels more like himself than he has in ages. Liberated, he supposes is the most suitable word for it, and the relief of finally having come clean to the girls about himself feels like having a genuine weight lifted from his shoulders.

There's just one tiny little detail left:  _ Steve. _

In Bucky's defence, he had been ready to tell Steve all about his newfound memories and experiences the very day the girls took him on that shopping trip. He had walked into the apartment after their victorious return from the shooting range, short-shorts and makeup in place, braced and prepared to show Steve exactly what he had been up to all day. Instead, he had been greeted by an empty apartment and a note on the hallway mirror informing him that Steve had gone with Tony on a hastily put-together business dinner regarding the upcoming charity event, and that he would be home late. The note had been signed  _ ‘Don’t wait up’ _ , followed by an affectionately scribbled heart in red ink.

Bucky had genuinely contemplated waiting up for him, but had chickened out. The longer he had waited, the more his brain had managed to come up with more elaborate and convincing reasons why he should. Like how his outfit hadn't been extravagant enough to justify such a dramatic reveal, and how he hadn’t been sure whether he really wanted to have that kind of discussion when Steve came home, tired, in the middle of the night. In the end, he had decided to wait until after the show. Hopefully it will be easier to explain this whole thing once Steve’s seen the kind of effect it has on Bucky’s performance… as well as the rest of him.

Steve  _ had _ made a comment regarding the star on Bucky's suddenly meticulously well-groomed fingernail, however. Bucky had blamed it on Darcy, saying that it was just a silly thing she had given him, before he even had time to think about what he was saying, or why.

It doesn't really matter, though. There’s only three weeks left until the show anyway, and Bucky is already spending every single night at the studio with the others to perfect the routine, so it’s not as if there’s any  _ time  _ for Steve and him to have the talk before the big day. 

He and the ladies had been forced to alter a few other things following the changes they’d integrated into the performance after introducing Bucky’s costume change, and the results had turned out better than Bucky dared hope for.

Now, all that remains is to actually  _ perform  _ it at the event, and if Bucky hadn’t been nervous about it before, he sure as all hell is now.

He can’t believe that he’s actually going to do what he’s planning to, and in front of a crowd, no less. Nat and the others promise him that it’s a great idea, and that it will be a perfect way to get that final rise out of their performance to make it memorable. Only thing is, Bucky’s not sure if people will remember it for the reasons Bucky wants them to…

He’s made up his mind, though. He’s doing this, no matter the outcome. And the routine is good. Like,  _ really  _ good. Honestly, were it only relying on the quality of their dancing alone, Bucky wouldn’t have been the slightest worried. 

They’re still working on the timing of the final chorus when Pepper takes a tumble. 

Bucky just barely has time to catch a glimpse of her in the mirror as she suddenly throws her hands out, and next thing, the chair she’s standing on topples over and sends Pepper crashing to the floor. Luckily, Wanda is faster than any one of them, and Pepper yelps as she comes to a silent, but abrupt halt, enveloped in red tendrils of smoke as Wanda carefully lowers her the final inches that’s left between her and the floorboards.

“Jesus, Pep, are you alright?” Darcy asks as she sinks to her knees beside her. Pepper nods, but she grimaces as she reaches down to clutch around her ankle with a low hiss.

“Is it your foot?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Pepper replies tightly. “I think I twisted it.”

“What happened?” Jane cuts in, and Pepper bites back another hiss as Bucky gently helps her stand up. 

“I don’t know,” she confesses, clutching around Bucky’s back as she leans on his shoulder. “My ankle just gave out. I wasn’t even trying to do anything special.”

“Come here,” Bucky says. “Let me have a look at it.”

He doesn’t carry her – at least not in a way that makes it obvious that he is – and Pepper gives him a weak but grateful smile when he guides her to sit down on one of the chairs over by the door. As the others take a moment to check whether Pepper’s chair is still safe to use, Bucky bends down to give her injured foot a quick examination.

The ankle is sprained, even if only slightly so, and Bucky moves to sit on the chair next to Pepper as he lifts her foot up to support it on his left shoulder, keeping it elevated. He also wraps his left hand around the ankle to keep it from swelling as one by one, he locks the joints in his elbow and wrist in place, with a light mechanic whirr.

“You don’t have to sit like that you know,” Pepper tells him. “I can just keep it on another chair or something.”

“It’s all right,” Bucky promises. “My arm doesn’t get tired anyway.”

“Is it bad?” she asks with a worried glance to where his fingers wrap around her ankle. “I mean… I’ll be able to dance at the event, right?”

“You should probably keep weight off it for a few days,” Bucky says thoughtfully. “It didn’t feel like you tore anything, so you should be able to go back to practice sometime next week, no problem.”

“That’s a relief, at least,” Pepper says with a sigh. She looks at her ankle, shaking her head. “So damn clumsy,” she mutters.

“It could have happened to anyone,” Bucky objects softly. 

“It would have been so typical, right?” Pepper asks. “For me to fall on my ass and break my leg just in time for the show?”

“Lucky us, you didn’t,” Bucky says, making Pepper smile as he adds, “The show wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

“Thanks.” She ducks her head. “You guys would have done fine without me, though. I mean, I’m not the star of this anyway.”

“Of course you are,” Bucky objects with a frown. “We’re doing this together, that’s the whole point.”

“Yes, yes, of course, but… Well, your part is slightly bigger.”

Bucky gnaws on his lip as he turns his gaze to look down at his lap. He hadn’t thought about it that way. For him, this has all been a team effort, from start to finish, but hearing Pepper speak of their number like that, suddenly has him feeling like a jerk. This performance was supposed to have been all about the women getting to show off their talent, and now, according to Pepper, it has suddenly turned into some big spectacle about  _ him. _

“No,” Pepper says firmly, and Bucky looks up, blinking as the tone of her voice startles him back to the present.

“What?” he asks dumbly.

“I said no,” Pepper repeats while wiggling a reprimanding finger at his face. “I know that look; Tony does the same thing when he thinks I’m mad at him about something.” She leans forward, as far as he raised leg will let her, and gives Bucky’s knee a little pat as she continues, a bit softer, “We could have said no, you know. But we didn’t, because it’s a  _ good idea _ . It’s a good idea, because it comes from the heart, and you shouldn’t feel bad about finally having the courage to express yourself.”

“I just don’t want to run you guys over,” Bucky explains humbly, and Pepper snorts as she leans back in her chair again.

“You honestly think we’d  _ let  _ you?” she asks with an amused quirk of her eyebrow. “C’mon, Bucky, you know us better than that.”

“Yeah,” Bucky admits. “I suppose that’s true.” He swallows hard as he gives Pepper a hesitant glance. “So… speaking of nothing… You still haven’t told Tony what we’re planning to do?”

“No,” she replies simply. “In a way, I think he wants to be surprised.” She pauses, frowning. “You know, he hasn’t even asked me about it. I should be suspicious, really, but… then again, what good would that do?”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Bucky agrees. “Steve hasn’t asked me much either, but I’ve already told him it’s a surprise, so he doesn’t push.”

“So he has no idea, then?” Pepper asks, and as Bucky silently shakes his head, she continues, “What do you think he’ll say?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Bucky replies earnestly. “Sometimes, I’m convinced he’ll approve of it. Then, ten minutes later, the thought of him finding out scares me half to death.”

“I don’t think you have to worry,” Pepper confesses. “Steve loves you more than anything. I’m sure he won’t care about what kind of clothes you wear.”

“I hope so,” Bucky mumbles. “Or things are going to get very awkward…”

“Bucky,” Pepper says confidently, “when Steve sees you on that stage, he’s going to need a mop and bucket just to wipe the drool off the floor.”

The mental imagery of that statement makes Bucky snort out a laugh, and he shakes his head again with an amused scrunch of his nose. “I’m sure Tony’s gonna  _ love  _ that,” he says. “At least it’ll give him someone else to mock once he gets tired of making fun of me.”

“You think Tony’s going to make fun of you?” Pepper asks with a nonplussed frown. “Why?”

“You know why,” Bucky murmurs, his smile fading. Pepper looks at him, long and steady. Then she sighs as she sits up taller, and once again, her hand finds its way to Bucky’s knee, squeezing it gently.

“Bucky,” she says sincerely. “Tony won’t make fun of you. He has too much respect for you to do something like that.”

“Respect…” Bucky snorts out. “I’m not sure how much  _ respect _ , if any, Tony will have for me after this…”

“Probably a lot more than you think.” She rubs her thumb gently over the curve of Bucky’s knee through his trousers. Bucky looks up at her, but when he doesn’t say anything, Pepper smiles at him.

“You do realize how proud we all are of you, right?” she asks. “Not just for this,” she says with a nod towards the studio floor, where the others have moved on to practice another, less complicated part of the routine while waiting for them to come back. “But for how far you’ve come. I mean, look at you,” she says with a fond smile. “When I first met you, you could barely handle being in the same room as other people. You’ve accomplished so much, Bucky. And we  _ are  _ proud of you, whether you think you deserve it or not.”

Bucky swallows down the lump in his throat, nodding quietly. He wants to say something back; a thank you, or a joke, just anything, but his tongue won’t cooperate with him. Pepper notices – whether it’s because she knows him well enough, or because she’s simply that good at reading people, he doesn’t know. She squeezes his knee again, and when he looks up, the gentle curve of her smile makes his own lip tremble, even though he tries to keep it steady. Even more so when she brings her hand up to tenderly stroke her palm against the scruff on his cheek.

“You big dummy,” she murmurs fondly, and Bucky huffs out a laugh, looking down when she drops her hand to give his head an affectionate little shake by the chin. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. Huh? Can you promise me that?”

“Yes, Mom,” he replies obediently, and Pepper lets out an indignant laugh as she gives his face a playful shove.

“Watch it,” she warns, still laughing. “You’re old enough to be my granddad, you know.”

Bucky smiles as he rubs his thumb in a soothing circle against her ankle, and Pepper’s responding smile makes his heart swell about three sizes inside his chest.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 

 

“So,” Steve asks. “You guys ready for the show?”

It’s Friday evening, less than two weeks before the event, and they’re sitting on the couch, watching some mindless quiz show on the T.V. 

Steve has got his arm wrapped around the top of Bucky’s shoulders, while Bucky’s huddled up against Steve’s left side, resting his head against Steve’s chest.

“As ready as we can be,” Bucky replies. “Pepper has to rest her ankle a bit more, but she’ll be fine in time for the performance. Wanda’s been helping out with some sort of telekinetic support brace so that she’s been able to join us for the more basic rehearsals, at least.”

“Handy,” Steve comments with an impressed arch of his eyebrows.

“Very,” Bucky agrees soberly.

“And what about you?” Steve prompts. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous,” Bucky replies, without even a second of hesitation. 

“Stage fright?”

“No,” Bucky murmurs while snuggling closer to Steve’s chest to wrap his arm tight around Steve’s waist. “Just nerves.”

Steve hums, and obediently tightens his grip around Bucky’s shoulders when Bucky gives his stomach a pointed squeeze. “You know,” he continues helpfully, “Back when I performed on stage, I used to stretch a lot. You know, to relax myself before getting out there.”

“You used to do backstage stretching in those star-spangled pyjamas of yours?” Bucky says with a skeptic snort. “Now that must have been a sight for the chorus girls.”

“Funny how you make that sound like something you wouldn’t have liked to see for yourself,” Steve ponders loudly. “As I recall, you sure did like that outfit back in the day.”

“I did,” Bucky admits with a smirk. “It made your butt look cute as hell.”

On the T.V. the quiz show has moved on to the final round, and Bucky rolls his eyes as a lady with the most horrid blouse Bucky’s ever seen gets a question wrong, and then attempts to save face by blaming her answer on being distracted by the host’s  _ tie. _

“You guys decided what to wear yet?” Steve asks curiously, and Bucky clears his throat as he shifts in his seat.

“Yeah,” he says, as casually as he can muster, before adding, “Can’t tell you what it is though. It’s a secret.”

“Secret, huh?” Steve echoes with a smile.

“Yes, a  _ secret _ ,” Bucky repeats, firmer. “ I don’t wanna ruin the surprise.” 

“Well,” Steve says as he turns his head to rub his nose against Bucky’s temple. “I’ve always liked surprises when you’re involved.”

“I damn well hope so,” Bucky replies. 

“Yeah,” Steve purrs. “I especially liked the one where you came back to life after seventy years. That was neat.”

“Thanks, I worked hard on that one,” Bucky shoots back. He feels Steve press his lips against his temple, and then how Steve pulls him into a brief, bone-crushing hug.

“I know we can joke about it now,” Steve murmurs into his hair, “but every time we mention that it still makes me wanna grab hold of you and never let you go again.” 

“We’ll you’re gonna have to,” Bucky informs him fondly. He turns his head to give Steve a quick peck on the lips. “Or my performance at the event won’t be very graceful at all. Provided I manage to get my ass out on the stage to begin with…”

“You’ll do great,” Steve promises. “You just need to find a way to unwind. Relax a little.” Slowly, he shifts his weight, pushing himself up so that he’s turned away from the T.V., before leaning in to nose along the curve of Bucky’s ear. “Lucky for you, I may have a way to help you with that…”

Bucky snorts out a laugh, but it quickly morphs into a dirty groan as Steve begins to kiss his way down the side of his neck. Bucky feels teeth drag over his pulse point, and then Steve slips a hand underneath his shirt to rub a big soothing circle over his chest and abs. Bucky sighs, eagerly arching into the touch, but Steve doesn’t keep it up for long. A few seconds later, Bucky is forced to lean against the backrest of the couch when Steve begins to pull and tug at the buttons of his fly, and Bucky groans as he spreads his legs to give Steve more room to work.

Once Steve gets the fly undone, Bucky steals the chance to grab the remote to the T.V. and switches it off, replacing the woman with the hideous blouse with a murky reflection of the living room just as Steve pulls Bucky’s cock out of his underwear.

Bucky worms around a little to shimmy his jeans further down his hips, and then he leans back to watch Steve suck the head of his cock between his lips with a low hum.

God, Bucky has always loved Steve’s mouth. Those full gorgeous lips… Even when Steve had come home with his lips split and swollen from yet another back-alley brawl, all Bucky had been able to think about was how much he’d like to gently run the pad of his thumb over them before using his own lips to kiss the hurt away.

As Steve now slowly circles his tongue around the tip of Bucky’s cock in lazy swipes, Bucky smoothes the palm of his human hand up and down the length of Steve’s spine in the same gentle pace, moaning under his breath in time with the strokes. With his other hand, he runs metal fingers through the short strands of Steve’s hair, pausing on occasion to tighten his grip into a loose fist, making Steve groan around him.

Bucky tips his head back over the top of the couch, closing his eyes and rocking himself further into Steve’s mouth. He feels weightless, as if he’s going to float away the minute he lets go of Steve’s hair. His head is spinning in time with the languid ups and downs of Steve’s mouth, and his breath catches loudly every time Steve hollows his cheeks around him. 

“Fuck, Stevie…” he moans. “God, your fucking mouth, I can’t—  _ Fuck… _ ”

Steve chuckles, and Bucky’s hips stutter as the vibrations of it travel down the shaft of his cock, seemingly through his entire body before pooling hot inside his stomach. It feels good enough to bring a tremble to his limbs, and when Steve relaxes his throat to swallow him down, Bucky gasps as he fists the back of Steve’s t-shirt so hard, his grip has the seams stretching ominously in response.

“You gonna let me, baby?” Bucky moans pleadingly,  his voice rising into a breathless whimper. “If not you gotta let me know…”

Steve doesn’t answer. Instead, he simply reaches up and presses Bucky’s hand further into his hair with a zealous moan, and Bucky’s self-restraint promptly short circuits as he grabs the blond strands with a ragged whine.

“Shit…” he breathes. “Oh, shit, Stevie…” His voice is shaking apart, and he barely manages to crack his eyes open wide enough to watch the languid bob of Steve’s head rise and fall over his lap. Then, he lifts his gaze to the T.V. just in time to see the image of Steve mouthing over the head of his cock reflected in the black screen. It’s not a crystal clear view – hell, it’s barely enough to be called a  _ view  _ – but it’s all it takes.

Bucky doesn’t even manage a warning. He gasps and moans, unable to find words as the heat rolls over him in waves, cresting and breaking over and over, until he doesn’t even have enough presence of mind left to _ breathe. _ Steve gives a deep rumbling moan as Bucky’s come fills his mouth, and Bucky whimpers as he thrusts mindlessly into the tight circle of Steve’s lips, chasing the pleasure until all that’s left is white noise sizzling through his brain. As Steve proceeds to flatten his tongue against the bottom of Bucky’s cock to swallow it all down, Bucky is genuinely convinced that he's going to pass out.

His chest heaves, his limbs tremble, and when he finally manages to uncurl his hand from around Steve’s t-shirt, his fingers feel numb and feeble as he smoothes them down to rest against the small of Steve’s back with a dazed, sated sigh.

“Feeling relaxed yet?” Steve hums as he pulls off to look up at Bucky with a final, loud suck, and Bucky giggles as he uses his grip on Steve’s hair to give his partner’s head a reprimanding little shake. 

“You better not do that to me the night before the show,” Bucky tells him drowsily. “I can’t feel my damn legs.”

“Maybe if I do it again, it’ll turn them back on?” Steve suggests sweetly, and Bucky chokes out a laugh.

“If you do that  _ again _ ,” he concludes with a lopsided smile, “you’ll end up killing me.” Then he leans down to press a long, hard kiss against Steve’s lips, and Steve responds with a throaty laugh as he reaches up to pull Bucky down over himself while smiling brightly into the kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

 

 

The night of the event arrives a lot faster than Bucky both expects, or feels prepared for.

One moment, they're marking out their places on stage with little pieces of masking tape, checking light cues, and prepping their props, and the next, they're huddling backstage while listening to the buzz from the crowd as it takes its seat up front.

Bucky’s stomach is already working on a new record regarding how many knots it can tie itself into, and Bucky himself is amazed that he hasn’t managed to gnaw his lower lip to pieces with how much he’s worrying it with his teeth.

The others are taking turns to look through a little gap in the drop curtain at the corner of the stage, but Bucky still hasn’t been able to muster the courage to join them. He doesn’t want to look at the crowd. If he does, there’s always a risk that he’ll spot Steve, and that’s bound to distract him throughout the entire performance, and he needs all the focus he can get for this.

Unlike the ladies, he’ll be doing more than just dancing…

“Oh, look, he made it!” he hears Jane exclaim in an excited, although hushed voice.

“Who?” Sharon asks.

“Thor,” Jane replies, still peeking out through the curtain as Darcy moves in to get a glimpse.

“Aw, and he put on a suit and everything,” she cooes.

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. He has no idea how Stark managed to get an invitation for this all the way to Asgard, but obviously, he’s succeeded. Tony’s been acting very pleased about the whole thing, and as far as Bucky knows, he hasn’t used his EMP watch on any of the press, which is a good sign.

He sighs heavily, looking down at the sleeves of the suit he’s wearing. It’s a light grey and brown thing they picked up at a thrift shop, and even though the colors are as mundane as they get, Bucky still feels remarkably at home in it. The cut is near identical to the suits he himself had owned back in the late 30’s, and he finds that moving around it comes almost as naturally as wearing his own clothes does.

The suit pants are just long enough to cover most of the high-heeled shoes he’s wearing, but Bucky doesn’t really care whether people notice them or not. The shoes aren’t exactly the surprise of the evening, after all.

As he stands there, fiddling with the cufflinks on his sleeve, he notices Nat as she discreetly sidles up to stand next to him while Maria bickers with Darcy over whose turn it is too look through the curtains. Bucky gives her a silent smile in greeting, and she smiles back while looking down at his hands.

“You feeling alright?” she asks softly.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, out of reflex, but then he sighs. “Or… I mean, I’m… _alright._ Just—”

“Nervous as hell?” she ends with a quirk of her brow, and Bucky nods.

“That just about sums it up,” he concludes. With another sigh, he lets go of his cufflinks and shoves both hands into the pockets of his pants. If he keeps tugging at the accessories, they’re bound to come off sooner or later, and they won’t have time to stitch them back on.

“You know,” Nat says casually, “we don’t have to do the costume change if you don’t want to? We could just skip it?”

“No,” Bucky replies. “I wanna do this, I… I _need_ to do this.”

“You’ll do great,” she promises. He looks up as he feels her hand come up to rest on his shoulder. He smiles at her, and she smiles back. Then, she leans in and places a swift kiss on his left cheek – as if by doing it quick enough, he won’t notice it – and Bucky laughs.

“If you got lipstick on me, I’m gonna kill you,” he threatens.

“Nah, it’s a good brand,” Nat replies. “Doesn’t smear.”

“Speaking of,” Bucky says, “where is it?”

“Right here,” Sharon informs from his left, and when he looks over, she’s holding up the golden lipstick case.

“Don’t lose that,” he warns her, and she laughs as she carefully tucks it into the special little pocket sewn onto the black garter on her right thigh.

They’re all dressed in black, not counting Bucky’s grey suit, and Bucky is confident that a lot of fellas out in the audience would happily volunteer to take his place before their performance is over. The ladies are wearing black dresses of different cuts and lengths, making up for a uniform, yet varied and sophisticated image of ‘sexy’. They’re not strictly traditional burlesque outfits, but the elements are all there in the form of underbust corsets, laced-up backs, silk gloves, stockings, and fishnets tights… Bucky wishes he could own every single one of them.

“You look amazing,” he offers to Sharon, and when Nat clears her throat loudly by his side, he rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Yes, you look good too.”

“Charmer,” Nat mutters, and Bucky gives her leg a little nudge with his foot, being careful not to damage the delicate material of her tights.

“We ready to do this then?” Maria asks as she comes up to join them. Behind her, Jane and Darcy tear themselves away from the curtains to follow her along with the others, and soon they’re all standing there like the circle of petals on a black flower, with Bucky the lighter exception of the lot.

“Guess we are,” Sharon replies. She nods to Pepper. “How’s the ankle, Pep?”

“Never better,” Pepper replies. She stretches her foot out to display the black heels she’s wearing, with a strategic pattern of silk laced all the way up to her knee. “Your knots are still holding.”

“Of course they are,” Bucky says smugly.

“Still,” Maria says, “perhaps it would be better if we avoid using the term ‘break a leg’ tonight?”

“Seconded,” Pepper decides with a heartfelt nod that earns a laugh from the rest of the group.

“We’ll be fine either way,” Darcy says confidently. “If any of us gets hurt, Wanda can just puppeteer us through the rest of the routine.”

“You’d wish,” Wanda says with an amused snort. “Lifting people with your mind isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“Easier than dancing with a busted leg,” Darcy argues.

“Improvise,” Wanda suggest flatly, and Bucky snorts out a laugh at the feigned tone of indifference in her voice, before growing serious.

“Actually,” he says, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk about… or at least mention to you guys before we go out there tonight.” He pauses, but the women around him are already giving him their undivided attention, and he clears his throat, fighting the urge to take his hand out of his pocket to rub at his neck.

“So…” he starts slowly, “you guys know I’ve gone through some… changes lately. And, uh… I realized the other day that I haven’t actually, like, _thanked_ you for all the things you did to help me come to terms with those.” He looks up at them, but quickly looks back down when his cheeks begin to burn from the fond way they’re all looking at him.

“So, you know… thanks. For everything.” He snorts out a laugh, glancing up at them. “You guys know you’re all my best girls.”

“And you’re ours,” Wanda says. As she gives him an affectionate elbow to the side, Bucky chuckles under his breath, not realizing that he’s taken his left hand out of his pocket until the cool of metal is already rubbing at the side of his neck.

Suddenly, footsteps are heard to the left of the stage, and Bucky turns his head just in time to see Tony Stark stumble up the few steps leading to the backstage area. Stumbling, since he has his eyes covered by his hand while feeling his way up the wall with the other.

“Are you all decent?” he asks no one in particular. “Can I look?”

“Yes,” Nat replies dryly, and Tony peeks his right eye out from in between his fingers.

“You sure?” he asks worriedly, and when she just rolls her eyes at him, he puts the hand down with an indignant huff. “What?” he asks. “I know better than not to ask. Are you guys ready to get this show on the road?”

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Bucky says with a shrug.

“Wow, Sarge,” Tony says, “I sure hope your pep talks in the army were more inspiring than that.” He clears his throat and adjusts his tie, before clapping his hands together in front of his chest. “So, this is what's gonna happen. I'm gonna get out there and give you guys a little introduction – don't worry, honey, I'll be good, I promise,” he adds towards Pepper when she drags for breath. “Then, the lights will go down, the curtain rises, and when the music plays, you guys do your thing.”

“Sounds simple enough…” Jane mumbles tightly, and by her side Darcy reaches to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. Tony looks at them, and for a moment, Bucky thinks he’s going to make a comment, but instead, Tony just smiles, and then turns towards Nat.

“You ready?”

“Always,” Natasha replies confidently, and Tony nods. He sends one final look at the group. His eyes make brief, but piercing eye contact with Bucky, and then Tony turns around, heading for the center of the stage. As he reaches out to grab a hold of the curtains, he pauses to give them a thumbs up.

“Break a leg, you guys,” he says encouragingly, only to frown when the group’s response is to groan loudly at him.

“What?” he asks with an offended huff, but he doesn’t wait for anyone to answer before he rolls his eyes to the ceiling and steps out onto the stage to the sound of thunderous applause.

“Alright,” Bucky murmurs, “here we go.”

They take their places, splitting up on both sides of the stage, with Nat sitting on a lone chair in its center, to wait for Tony’s introduction to end. As promised, Tony keeps it clean and professional – because believe it or not, Stark actually knows how to do that too – and as his speech ends, the hall fills with the sound of applause and cheering. Bucky looks over at Nat, and only just manages to catch the glimpse of the mischievous wink she sends his way, before she turns back around to strike her pose on the chair. Much-too-soon after, the lights go out, plunging the stage into darkness.

There’s the soft rustle of fabric being moved, and Bucky holds his breath, waiting by Maria’s side for the music to start.

_Underneath the city lights…_

A single spotlight slowly fades on to illuminate Nat to the audience where she sits, ankles crossed in ladylike perfection on her chair, with her face turned to the floor and her red hair hanging down like a curtain to hide it from view.

_There is a world few know about_

Slowly, Natasha rises from her seat, keeping her head down, still.

_Where rules don't apply, no_

_And you can't keep a good girl down_

The sound of jazz trumpets fill the air, and Nat whips her hair back just as the remaining spotlights turn on to shower the stage in golden light. And as the first drumbeat sounds the rest of the ladies, all carrying their own chair, struts onstage from the sides to line up beside her, setting their chairs down while keeping a firm grip around the top of the backrest as they do so.

As the first verse starts, Bucky watches with both pride and anxious excitement how the seven women perform the routine he created for them, starting by bouncing their hips _(1, 2, 3, 4)_ , and then stepping onto their chairs and doing the hip wiggle. Then, they throw their arms out in a disregarding shrug at the line, _Don’t need a sugar daddy_ and leaning forward in a shimmy at the following, _she can work it just fine,_ before the finishing, _Up on the table, she’ll be dancing all night,_ has them all striking a pose while Nat ‘walks’ her chair down to the floor by stepping onto the backrest and tipping it over. She keeps her balance in an effortless display of grace and attitude as the chair hits the floor on, _night,_ and then continues to dance as the other ladies jump off their chairs and drag them all to the back,

As the bridge starts, they all come back to line themselves up again, facing the left, and bouncing their hips while keeping their hands on the waist of the girl in front.

_We say, hey, here come the ladies 'bout to give a little show_

Bucky swallows, and then steps out on the left side of the stage, and the girls all turn to look him up and down as the next line rings out, _Hey, here come the boys, we gonna show a little more (more, more)._

As the chorus starts, Bucky makes his way across the stage, along the line of women. He makes sure to put on a look of pleasant surprise as the girls reach for him as he passes; touching his arms, running hands over his back, all while looking at him as if he were a piece of meat tossed into a wolf’s den.

It’s all part of the performance, of course, and as he reaches the end of the stage, Bucky allows himself to be pushed down in a chair by Maria that Sharon pulls out from the wing. He stares up at them in feigned awe and wonder as they dance around him, and as he reaches out to touch the flowy chiffon detail of Maria’s skirt – for the audience looking as if he’s reaching for her thigh – Maria slaps his hand away just as Wanda comes up to grab around the outstretched elbow of his arm. With a tug, and a shove from behind by Sharon, Bucky is pulled out of the chair and sent ‘stumbling’ to his feet accompanied by the encouraging (and somewhat demanding) line, _So get your ass up, show me how you Burlesque._

As the chorus is repeated, Bucky gets to take turns dancing with all the ladies as they pass him around amongst themselves. They perform brief pieces of Lindy Hop, Jitterbug, Swing, Charleston, and all those other dances that Bucky knows by heart. The girls toy with him between the turns, spinning him around, pushing him forward, dragging him in by the arms. One of the final turns leaves him with his suit jacket getting pulled off his shoulders as Pepper yanks him out of Natasha’s arms to pull him in close – looking at him with an eye-level smirk thanks to the advantage of her heels.

He’s a plaything, something to be used for fun and pleasure, nothing more. Just like they practiced it.

In a way, it reminds Bucky a lot of how things had been going on all those fake dates, back in the day. A new woman almost every weekend, women fighting over his attention. Acting out the appreciation for the flattery of being so desired is easy – if not the easiest part of his entire performance.

Then, the second verse comes around, and Bucky is shoved to the side as the ladies once again line up on stage, dancing and performing the next sequence of the routine in perfect synch.

_A little bit of naughty is a little bit nice_

_She's a whole lot of glam, sweat, sugar, sex, spice_

_Just shimmy, shimmy, strut, strut, give a little what, what_

_Up on the tables, we'll be dancing all night_

As the second repetition of the bridge comes around, they turn towards the audience to spread their arms out in a wide, inviting gesture, before turning towards Bucky and motioning for him to come join them at the back of the line. Bucky obediently does, with feigned and intrigued confusion as he visualises the lyrics, _Under the spotlight, all the boys wanna fall behind._

He makes a point out of watching how the girls bop their hips, just like they had before; turned sideways with their hands on the waist of the person in front. Hesitantly, Bucky mimics them as he puts his hands on Darcy’s slender waist and begins to bop his own hips, smiling widely as he makes his movements firmer and more decisive when the rhythm travels through his body.

When the ladies move into the second part of their synchronized performance, Bucky follows them seamlessly, swaying his hips and shaking his shoulders just like they do. The chorus plays and Bucky dances with the girls, and even without the mirror of the studio to show him so, he knows that it looks amazing.

He can’t see the crowd, except for a few dimly lit faces of the front row, just as Pepper had said. Not that he’s looking. He still doesn’t want to risk accidentally spotting Steve’s face, and as the second chorus nears its end, Bucky smothers the anxious flutter in his gut with a resolute clench of his jaw as he turns his back on the audience to await his cue.

The music fades down to just the steady beat of the drums, and the lyrics lower into a seductive whisper.

_Okay girls, let's show 'em how it's done_

_It ain't over till we say and we've only just begun_

Once again, Bucky allows himself to be touched by the others as they wrap around his arms, waist, and legs, smoothing hands up the small of his back towards his shoulders to make him spread his arms and legs into a big, human X.

Bucky knows without looking that Natasha is standing at the front of the stage now, urging the audience to sing along with them as the bridge carries on.

_Lemme hear you say, yeah_

Bucky smirks when he hears the audience answer, right on cue, filling in the empty part of the song with an unanimous echo of the lyrics. He quickly smothers it, however, as Sharon comes up to stand in front of him, reaching for the little pouch in her garter to pull out the lipstick case in the cover of his own body.

_Say yeah_

She leans up and carefully applies the lipstick on his lips, and Bucky swallows hard.

_Say yeah_

Sharon tucks the lipstick back from where she took it while Bucky quickly smacks his lips together to even the lipstick out, and when Bucky meets her eye, she smiles at him. Then, as the final, wailing, _‘Say yeah’_ comes booming from the speakers, Bucky feels the hands on his body clutch around the fabric of his clothes, and _pull._

With a series of snaps that is drowned by the music, the modified buttons of Bucky’s outfit come apart as the ladies literally tear his clothes off. Someone – Wanda – pulls his hair tie out at the same time as Pepper and Jane spin him around to face the audience. Bucky breathes in, straightens up, and lifts his chin to the light, making sure that everyone gets a real good look of his cherry red lips, and naked torso, but most importantly: the red heels, the sheer tights, and his black, silk hipster panties.

There’s a brief pause in the music, but it’s not enough for Bucky to be able to discern any reactions from the crowd. The chorus starts up again, and Bucky doesn’t give himself any time to hesitate. He knows the next part without even having to think about it. Be it the clothes, or the fact that he feels more entitled to carry out the movement while wearing this new outfit, he doesn’t know, nor does he care.

The girls are still dancing with him, but instead of making him a plaything for their own amusement this time, they are actually dancing _with_ him. He’s one of them, gender labels tossed aside and scattered to the wind. His bare chest and metal arm are fully on display, his head held high with red crowning his lips like blood; feral and dangerous. He feels free, even here in plain sight for everyone to see, and he knows that no matter what happens after this, he won’t be able to deny himself this again.  

_Hit it up, get it up, won't let you rest_

_Hit it up, get it up, this is not a test_

_Hit it up, get it up, gotta give me your best_

They dance, and Bucky can’t help but smile as his favorite part comes up – admittedly stolen straight off YouTube, but he doesn’t care. They line up, facing the side like they already have twice before, only this time they all also lean forward to rest their heads on the small of the back of the person in front, faces turned towards the audience.

_So get your ass up, show me how you Burlesque_

Darcy, who’s behind him this time, gives him a playful, and very deliberate slap on the ass as the word is mentioned in the lyrics, and Bucky makes a grimace as he mimes out a cheeky, ‘Ow,’ towards the audience, even while grinning.

_Hit it up, get it up, won't let you rest_

It’s the final part of the song, and Bucky straightens up, spinning around to strut over the stage towards its center where Nat is already waiting for him. The rest of the group are also taking their places, and Bucky grabs Nat by the waist, pulling her leg up by the knee to press it against his side while she throws her arms around her neck

_Hit it up, get it up, this is not a test_

They’ve done this before, more than once – although, they’d had agreed, during less friendly circumstances – but that doesn’t change the fact that the movement is still fluid like water. This time, it’s even easier, seeing as they work together when Bucky lifts her into the air, using his metal arm alone, and Natasha proceeds to wrap her legs around his neck and lean back in a gracious arch with both arms raised into the air.

_Hit it up, get it up, gotta give me your best_

Bucky reaches up and grabs Natasha by the waist with both hands and raises her up, and she unwraps her thighs from around his neck to stretch her legs out straight until she lies flat in the air, face to the ceiling while Bucky turns to face the audience. Around him, the others are getting ready to strike their final, individual poses, and Bucky feels the drums of the song slot up with his own heart beat, for just a split second. It’s a good feeling – a strong feeling – as if the universe itself is giving him a final pat on the back.

_So get your ass up, show me how you Burlesque_

It strikes him, just as the final phrase of the song rings out, and he extends his arms to their full length to raise Nat up above him that they did it. They did it, together, and it doesn’t even matter if people will hate it, because they _did it._

Just as fast, he also realizes that it’s over. They’re done, the music is gone, the stage once again dark around them all.

But it’s not quiet.

For a moment, Bucky thinks the speakers broke, because all he can hear is a deafening roar. Then, as he carefully lowers Nat back down onto the floor he hears the applause.

For a few disoriented seconds, he completely forgets that they’re supposed to be lining up for the curtain call. It’s a good thing he’s already standing in the middle, because when the light comes on, he still hasn’t gathered enough composure to move. He only bows because Wanda and Darcy both grab his hands to tug him down, and when he looks back up, the ceiling lights of the room are slowly turned back on.

The entire audience is standing in its seats, applauding and cheering. It’s surreal, and once again, Bucky has to be physically directed into bowing down.

The second time he looks up, he spots Steve. He’s on the center-left side of the hall, in the row second from the front. He's also dressed in a suit – his navy blue one – and like the rest of the audience, he’s also standing up, but he’s not applauding. He’s staring straight at Bucky, and for a moment, Bucky feels his heart drop through his gut.

Then, their eyes meet, and Steve’s lips slowly split into a wide, dopey-looking grin as he slowly brings his hands up and claps them together, soon joining in the applause with fervent enthusiasm. As Bucky watches, Steve then pinches his lips together tightly in that way Bucky knows is Steve’s trying-not-to-get-emotional face, before nodding rapidly, as if answering an unspoken question.

It’s more of an approval than Bucky could have ever asked for, and when he turns his head, he sees that Darcy is looking at him with an amused, albeit pleased, little smirk on her lips as she leans in towards his ear.

“Better get that leather belt ready,” she speaks into his ear, barely audible over the noise even though she’s nearly shouting. Bucky snorts out a laugh and gives her shoulder a reprimanding shove with his own (gently, of course, seeing as she’s on his left), before dragging a deep, relaxing breath into his lungs.

Because he did it. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

When they’re finally allowed to leave the stage (after several curtain calls followed by thunderous applause) Bucky finds himself leaning against the wall of the left wing with his head tipped back towards the ceiling above, with the goofiest grin spread across his lips.

His heart is pounding harder inside his chest than it had during their actual performance, and when Wanda comes up to put a tender hand over his shoulder – most likely to ask if he’s okay – Bucky scoops her into his arms with a triumphant shout to spin her around in a circle, before placing an ecstatic kiss on her right cheek.

She gives a delighted little shriek when he picks her up, and she laughs while holding on tightly around his neck as he twirls them both. When he puts her back onto the floor, she pulls him into a tight hug that Bucky reciprocates with everything he has.

“Oh, my god, that was amazing _! _ ” Darcy exclaims as she jumps excitedly up and down on the spot. “That was  _ amazing! _ ”

“Did you guys hear the  _ applause? _ ” Maria continues with the same heartfelt wonder in her voice. “For a while there I thought it was thunder or something.”

“Might have been, actually,” Natasha says while nudging Jane in the ribs with her elbow. “Thor looked pretty appreciative.”

Jane laughs and ducks her head, but she still nods. “Asgardians aren’t exactly timid when it comes to voicing their opinions,” she says. “I’m just glad he didn’t actually jump on stage.”

“Speaking of,” Pepper says with a smile in Bucky’s direction. “I saw your man out there when the lights came on. He looked pretty starstruck.”

“Poor guy didn’t know what to do with himself,” Sharon agrees slyly as she reaches out to pat Bucky’s left shoulder. “Better go get that belt ready.”

Bucky laughs, but he doesn’t blush or duck his head; he’s too happy and relieved to be embarrassed by an inside joke, even one about his own sex life. He already has his mouth open to give an equally spicy response when Sharon’s gaze suddenly shifts to over his shoulder, and Bucky tenses up.

He knows what to expect when he turns around, and sure enough, there’s Steve standing at the top of the stairs leading down to the backstage area with both hands politely clasped behind his back, and a shy smile curling across his lips. When Bucky turns around, Steve brings one hand out to give him a little wave, and Bucky swallows hard.

“Bucky,” Pepper says, already moving, “We’re gonna go get changed now, and we’ll meet you out in the main hall later.” 

Bucky nods, watching as the ladies all collectively leave the stage with subtle smiles and gentle touches as they pass him by. The only one not being subtle is Darcy, of course, who after having passed Steve, turns around to point at Steve from behind his back while mouthing a mute, ‘Go get him!’ in Bucky’s direction. When she follows the encouragement up by giving a very passionate, very suggestive thrust with her hips, Bucky has to cover his mouth with his hand in a feigned cough to hide his own grin.

Then, Steve and he are alone, and Bucky is suddenly very much aware that he’s currently dressed in just a pair of women’s underwear, sheer stockings, and cherry red heels. 

He knows that he should probably say something, but he can’t figure out where to start. Instead, he ends up just standing there, while Steve continues to look at him from his spot by the stairs, still smiling that secretive little smile of his.

“Hey,” Steve says eventually, and Bucky suppresses the pleasurable shiver the purr in his voice causes to rush up his spine.

“Hey,” he replies hoarsely. Steve’s lip twitches as he slowly saunters towards Bucky, and as he gets closer, he pulls his other hand out from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of crimson roses so large, it leaves Bucky blinking.

“Congratulations,” Steve says as he offers him the bouquet, and Bucky takes it with a bashful chuckle, and a murmured, “Thanks.”

The roses are heavy (for being flowers, at least) and Bucky finds that breathing becomes a lot easier if he focuses his attention on the deep red of the petals rather than the blinding blue of Steve’s eyes.

“You looked amazing out there,” he hears Steve say. “Really, the whole thing was absolutely stunning.”

“Thanks,” Bucky repeats, still looking down at his flowers. “We worked hard.”

“I could tell,” Steve replies softly. Then, after a brief pause, he adds, “I’m proud of you.”

“The girls did an amazing job,” Bucky agrees. “They really brought the house down.”

“They really did,” Steve replies, “but I’m not talking about the performance.”

That finally has Bucky glancing up, and when Steve looks back at him with that soft, knowing gleam in his eye, Bucky’s chest aches. Steve holds his gaze for what feels like forever, and then he looks away, out over the empty stage and the remaining audience that still hasn’t made it out of their seats yet.

“Is there someplace we can talk?” he asks. “In private?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I have a… a dressing room, it’s, uhm…” He points towards the stairs the girls had just disappeared down, and begins to walk without even finishing his sentence. Steve politely waits for him to lead the way, and Bucky swears he can feel the weight of Steve’s eyes between his shoulderblades as physically as he can feel the stems of the roses press into the palm of his hand.

Being the only man of the group, Bucky has ended up with an entire dressing room to himself. It had been designed for several people to use at once, because there are several desks and mirrors lined up against one of the walls, with divided stalls of hangers and shelves placed directly behind them. 

As they walk in, Bucky goes directly towards the stall where he had hung his ordinary clothes prior to the show, and carefully puts the roses down. He already has his thumbs tucked into the waistband of his panties to pull them off when he hears Steve close the door behind them.

“Leave them on.”

Bucky freezes as the sound of Steve’s footsteps slowly approaches from behind, and his skin prickles with goosebumps when he feels Steve’s breath ghost over the nape of his neck. 

Bucky closes his eyes, and sighs softly when Steve’s arms come up to wrap around his waist with a murmured, “Please?”

As Bucky leans back against Steve’s chest, Steve lets his lips drag over the side of his neck in a gentle flutter.

“You don’t mind them?” Bucky whispers.

“Why would I?” Steve counters softly. Then he pauses, before continuing, “Bucky, you  _ do  _ remember it, right?”

At that, Bucky slowly stands up straight and turns around to give Steve a nonplussed frown, which deepens even further at the sad expression that falls over Steve’s face as Bucky meets his gaze.

“Remember what?” Bucky asks warily, and Steve responds by grabbing hold of his hands as he steps in closer to press his forehead against Bucky’s own. Bucky looks down when Steve rubs hesitant circles with his thumbs over the back of Bucky’s hands, and he hears Steve drag for breath, hold it, and then let it back out with a sigh.

“Bucky, I know,” he says simply. Bucky doesn’t have to look at his face to understand what he’s talking about. His own breath stutters when Steve continues to rub his hands up and down the length of his forearms, up to his shoulders, and then down Bucky’s sides to rest at the silk covering his hips. “I’ve always known. You really don’t remember any of it?”

“I—” Bucky starts, but his voice dies with a croak before he can get any further, and he feels the shift of Steve’s head when Steve tenderly rubs the tips of their noses together.

“You showed it to me,” Steve whispers softly. “You asked me if I thought it made you a pervert. I said you were the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen…” He leans in, and Bucky’s breath stalls once more when he feels the soft brush of lips press against his own, just for a second. Then, Steve pulls back, and gently guides Bucky to turn around until he’s facing the row of mirrors on the other side of the room, before wrapping his arms around him once more and kissing the slope of his neck.

“The next day when I came home,” he continues, “you were waiting for me. You stood in front of my bedroom mirror, just like this; all dolled up in your white pretties. I swear, couldn’t tell whether my poor heart was about stop or explode inside my chest.”

Bucky blinks. He stares at his reflection in the mirror in front of him, only, it’s not his actual reflection that he sees.

Instead, he sees the same image that he had back at the TDF warehouse, but this time it’s not Wanda standing next to him, but Steve. Steve, back when he had just reached Bucky to the shoulder, wide-eyed and staring at Bucky’s silky white lingerie while Bucky smirks back at him through the reflection.  

“I didn’t know,” Bucky breathes as he screws his eyes shut. “Those memories, I— I didn’t know…”

Once again, Steve kisses Bucky’s neck before burying his face against the top of his shoulder with a shaky sigh as he tightens his grip around Bucky’s body. “When you came back and I realized that you had forgotten almost everything about that time, about who you were…” he murmurs. “Sweetheart, it hurt so bad. What they did to you, I… I could barely stand the thought of it. I still can't.”

Slowly, and gently, he smoothes his right hand up the front of Bucky’s chest to press the tips of his fingers against Bucky’s chin to raise it higher, lifting it up into the light to make Bucky open his eyes to look at himself in the mirror.

“And still, here you are,” Steve says. “Even after everything, you came back…”

“I did,” Bucky agrees shakily, making Steve smile, before moving in to kiss at Bucky's earlobe with a slight hint of teeth.

“Do you still like the lacy kind best?” he asks, and Bucky drags in a sharp breath when Steve’s other hand drops to run soft, teasing fingers along the waistband of the panties. “And stockings? Have you tried any of those yet?”

“Just the lace,” Bucky confesses, and every hair on his right arm promptly stands on end as Steve lets out a low groan against his skin. “I haven’t had time to try the stockings yet.”

“You loved the stockings,” Steve rasps, his voice nearly a growl. “And the garterbelts, god, you used to drive me crazy with those.”

Bucky’s eyes flutter shut when Steve drops both his hands down to drag blunt nails over the tops of Bucky’s thighs through his black tights. Bucky tips his head back to the ceiling, moaning as he slumps against Steve’s chest. 

“Never thought I’d get to see you like that again,” Steve confesses. “I was convinced that part of you was lost forever. And honestly, I would have been fine with that, because it was still you, but…” He grabs around the jut of Bucky’s hips from behind to slowly knead at the bone through his clothes. Bucky can feel the tremble in Steve’s body when Steve presses his forehead against the top of his shoulder once again, as if grounding himself, hissing low between gritted teeth, “God, baby, I’ve missed you…”

“Yeah…” Bucky replies, feeling his own lips curl up into a smile. “I’ve missed me too.”

That has Steve snorting out a laugh that gets muffled against Bucky’s skin, but then it shifts into something else. Something primal and desperate. Before Bucky knows it, Steve has spun him around and mashed their lips together with a low needy noise in the back of his throat that sends Bucky’s head reeling.

Bucky kisses him back, frantic and uncoordinated, but at the moment he couldn’t care less about his lack of finesse. All that matters is that Steve’s here, and Bucky is wearing silky, sexy lingerie, and Steve  _ likes it. _ Actually, he more than likes it; he’s  _ missed  _ it. 

What that means is so unfathomable, Bucky can’t even bring his brain to comprehend it. Steve  _ likes  _ it. Likes  _ him _ , like  _ this. _

He keeps kissing him, until Steve eventually has to pull back for air, and as he does, Bucky’s eyes widen as he lets out a snorted laugh.

“What?” Steve asks. He’s a little short of breath, and along with the dazed look in his eyes, Bucky can barely keep himself from grinning as he points to the corner of Steve’s lip.

“You’ve got… Like, a little…” His sentence morphs into a barely suppressed giggle as Steve drags the palm of his hand against the edge of his mouth, only to smudge the crimson smear of Bucky’s lipstick even further up his left cheek. When Steve’s gaze falls on the tainted skin of his palm, Bucky cracks up completely, but he quickly realizes his predicament as Steve responds by simply reaching out and firmly shoving at Bucky’s cheek, until Bucky once again finds himself staring at his own reflection.

His lipstick is absolutely _ ruined. _ He looks as if he just got forcibly smooched by a  _ clown, _ and when he catches the glimpse of Steve’s pleased grin in the mirror, he turns and gives his partner a shallow punch to the arm.

“Shut up,” he says, already moving towards the makeup station to dig some facial wipes out of his makeup bag. “Damn Natasha,” he murmurs as he wipes the red off his face. “Doesn’t smear, my ass…”

“Hey, it’s not Nat’s fault you kiss like you drive,” Steve objects.

“It’s false advertisement,” Bucky grumbles. “And my driving is excellent, thank you very much.”

“Which is exactly my point,” Steve hums, but as he tries to lean in to give Bucky’s cheek another kiss, Bucky responds by shoving a wet wipe in his face with a smug smirk.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ 

 

Once they’ve managed to get the remaining lipstick off, Bucky gets changed. It feels a bit weird to take the heels and tights off and put them in his bag when Steve’s sitting  _ right there, _ but when Steve asks Bucky if he’d mind keeping the black panties on, Bucky decides that it's the kind of weird he could absolutely get used to.

After Bucky has put his suit on – plain black cotton, with a white shirt and red tie – and Steve's adjusted his collar for good measure, the two of them head back up to the main hall of the event where the others are already waiting for them.

The press has a field day when they spot him, but Bucky is not about to let himself get phased by them. He answers their questions as professionally as he can, and yet by the time the question regarding his outfit comes up, he's feels his calm exterior crack a little at the seams.

The question doesn't come from a man as he had been expecting. Instead, it comes from a woman; blonde, pearl earrings, subtle shade of lipstick, and a charcoal pantsuit with high heels. She's holding her phone up against his face, voice recording already running, and her voice is high pitched and cuts into Bucky's eardrums when she shouts to be heard over the buzz of the crowd.

“Mr Barnes,” she says, “What were your thoughts when you were told you had to wear women's clothes for the show? Who’s idea was it?”

Bucky's first thought is that she's old,  but as he turns her attention towards her, he finds that she's really not much older than Nat or Sharon. Perhaps it's the haircut, or the way her lips are pinched together to give her a constant expression of smelling something rank in the air. She reminds Bucky an awful lot of the old lady who had used to run the bakery across the street from the grocery store when he was a kid.

She had been a mean woman, he recalls. Constantly yelling at the kids not to loiter around the display window. And woe the poor soul who happened to wander through the doors of her bakery without the supervision of an adult… 

He knows that it's just a physical likeness, but he can't help but feel like he's just been confronted by a very unpleasant human being. As the reporter proceeds to shove her phone even further in his face after having asked her question, the sentiment doesn't exactly fade…

“The idea was mine,” he says, frowning down at the device now hovering an inch under his nose. “And my thoughts were that I was happy the others agreed with the concept of it.”

“Which was?”

Bucky pauses. From the start there hadn't really been a concept other than for Bucky to wear clothes he felt comfortable in. Then, as they had worked over the choreography, a thought had occurred to him nonetheless.

“The concept,” he starts, “was that I literally wanted to walk a mile in their shoes. To experience what they do. The choreography of our dance as a whole basically represents a man getting in touch with his feminine side without losing the traits that make him a man. To exist with women equally, and working with them to create unity without using either as a stepping stone for their own purposes.”

“Is that what you think men are doing today?” the woman asks. “Using women as stepping stones?”

“I think men still have a lot to learn about women,” Bucky answers. “And I'm not talking about learning what kinds of dates they wanna go on, or in what way they want to be approached at a club. I'm talking about proper knowledge. Most guys can’t imagine doing the things women do on a daily basis, to face the struggles they do and make it out on the other side with their heads held as high, or their backs as straight. It takes a real man to do that. Especially if he has to do it in three inch heels like many women do.”

“So you're saying that women are actually  _ better _ than men?” the woman asks triumphantly, as if she's pleased to have turned his own words against him, and Bucky's frown deepens.

“Absolutely not,” he says. “What I'm saying is that women get constantly  _ underestimated _ by men. That men look at a woman and decide that they are incapable of this-and-that simply because they're not men. As if their gender holds more value  than their actual knowledge or capabilities. Which is why I want to learn more about why that is, and how to change it.”

“But weren't you embarrassed to be seen like that by so many people?”

Bucky's jaw clenches.

“Seen like what, exactly?” he asks calmly.

“Wearing women's clothing.”

Bucky looks down to the floor as he drags in a slow grounding breath through nose.

“First off,” he says, “it's not _women's_ clothing. It's just clothing. Anyone can wear that. Second, even if they _were_ _women's_ _clothing_ , why would me wearing them be embarrassing? To say that implies that for men to do anything the same way a women does it is cause for embarrassment. To walk like a woman, talk like one. To dress and care about your looks like one. Why is that embarrassing? The embarrassment would have been for me to wear those clothes and then play it off as a joke. To stand here and pretend like it's something unworthy or undignified that I did just because I _had_ to, when in reality it wasn't. Now _that_ would have been embarrassing.”

The woman blinks, staring at him. Then she turns to Steve, who so far has been standing silent by Bucky’s side.

“And what are your thoughts on this?”

This time, it’s Steve who blinks.

“What?” he asks, stunned.

“That your partner doesn't mind showing himself in public in women's clothing,” the woman continues, as if the very thought of Steve’s approval would be the most preposterous thing ever. Steve appears to understand that as well, because he scowls at her, and Bucky just barely manages to keep himself from smirking as Steve slowly straightens up to his full height by his side to look down at the reporter with a tight clench of his jaw. 

“And what’s wrong with being seen in public in women’s clothing?” he asks grimly. “You’re wearing women's clothing right now.”

The woman already has her mouth open to reply when she realizes that Captain America is obviously not going to give her the support that she had hoped for. Bucky swears he can hear the dull clack of her teeth as she snaps her mouth shut, and then she tucks her phone into her purse as she exits the crowd with a last sullen glance at them both.

The journalists scatters quickly after that, chased away by Steve's glare whenever any of them even begins to open their mouth. Bucky looks up to see Clint come sauntering their way just as the last reporter scurries off. Clint sends the fleeing journalist an amused glance as he comes to stand on Bucky’s left.

“What the hell did you tell them?” he asks with a chuckle. “Did they ask about your sex life?”

“Close enough,” Steve grumbles. Clint raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t comment any further. Instead, he turns towards Bucky to look him up and down briefly before nodding towards his lips.

“Where’s your lipstick?” he asks. 

“Took it off,” Bucky says simply. He sends Steve a sullen look. “Someone ruined it.”

“Ah,” Clint says. “That’s a shame, it was a nice color. What brand was it?”

“Anastacia,” Bucky replies. “American Doll.”

“Nice. It looked good on you.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says with a smirk, just as Tony pushes through the crowd in front of them with a glass of champagne in his hand, Sam and Natasha in tow.

“Evening, gentlemen!” he greets cheerfully. “Barnes, congratulations on a splendid performance. Rogers, congratulations on a splendid boyfriend, life partner, main squeeze.”

“Thanks,” Steve replies with an amused smirk, and Tony grins as he gestures to the rest of the room with his glass.

“Everyone’s talking about the dancing. The press is eating it up.”

“Yeah, we know,” Bucky says with a roll of his eyes.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, tin-man,” Sam says, “those are a nice set of pins you’ve got there.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says with a chuckle. “The heels help.”

“Tell me about it,” Tony grumbles. “Pepper loves the damn things.”

“I take it by the sound of your voice that you don’t?” Clint asks politely.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Tony clarifies, “They make her look great. Fantastic, really. I just wish she could wear them without being so…  _ tall. _ ”

“I think that’s part of the purpose, actually,” Nat offers, and Tony slumps his shoulders with a groan.

“Dammit,” he mutters, swigging his glass back.

“So,” Sam says, turning towards Bucky again. “Did you dance like that back in the day too?”

 

“No, not exactly like that,” Bucky admits. “I learned it from the Internet.”

“Oh, no,” Natasha says with a reprimanding finger his way. “Don’t you dare sell yourself short like that. You came up with nearly the entire choreography by yourself.”

“Really?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I… might have had something to do with that,” Bucky admits, looking down at the floor, and he snorts out a bashful laugh when he feels Steve’s hand move in to give an affectionate squeeze to his waist.

“Your hard work is appreciated,” Clint says, and when Bucky looks at him, Clint points a discreet finger towards the bar on the other side of the room, where Thor is currently hovering around Jane like a lovesick puppy. 

“He looks at her as if she hung the moon and then some,” Nat comments. 

“Can you blame the guy?” Tony asks. “That whole  _ bend-and-snap _ thing in the third chorus nearly set his lightning off.”

Bucky laughs, letting his gaze drift from Thor and Jane to where Darcy, Sharon, and Maria are leaning against the bar. There are three men seated to their right, and as Bucky looks on, one of them leans over and gives Darcy a loud smack on the ass.

Steve instantly takes a step forward, but Bucky’s faster. He splays his metal hand over his partner’s shirt-clad chest to stop him, and when Steve gives him a disagreeing frown, Bucky just smiles.

“Shouldn’t we help?” Steve asks, and Bucky shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, looking over to the bar again. “They can take care of themselves.”

Steve’s frown deepens, but he turns his head to follows Bucky’s gaze just in time to see Darcy pay for the drink the bartender hands her over the counter, before turning around and unceremoniously dumping the whole thing over the top of the fiddled-fingered guy’s head. It strikes Bucky then, that he’s never really seen Darcy look angry. Not even now, after having been groped by some total stranger in a bar, she’s still smiling sweetly as she turns to walk away with Maria and Sharon. However, as Bucky looks closer, he can see the furious hint of steel that gleams in the depths of her gaze, and decides that the guy at the bar should consider himself lucky that Darcy didn’t have her tazer with her.

Suddenly, there’s a light tap on his shoulder, and he knows who it is, even before he’s begun to turn around.

“So?” Wanda whispers with a conspiratorial glance at Steve’s back. “How’d it go?”

“Well,” Bucky answers. “Actually, more than well.”

“So he liked it?” Wanda asks, and Bucky ducks his head, biting at his lower lip as he nods towards the floor.

“Liked is probably an understatement,” he decides.

“I’m glad,” Wanda says, sounding every bit like she’s telling the truth. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a little fashion show later, don’t you think?” she adds mischievously, just as Steve turns back around to settle his hand against the small of Bucky’s back.

“You guys are thinking about doing a fashion show too?” he asks, having obviously only heard half of Wanda’s sentence.

“Not that I know of,” Wanda says with a laugh. “But Bucky has practiced his runway walk a few times at the studio. You should have him show you later.”

“Maybe I should,” Steve agrees with a hum. He leans in to give Bucky a quick kiss on the lips, and Bucky just barely manages to keep himself from yelping into the kiss when Steve slides his hand down to grope at his ass through his pants.

“Speaking of,” Steve says casually as he pulls back from the kiss, ignoring the reprimanding look Bucky gives him. “We should get going.”

“Really?” Sam asks. “This soon?”

“Yeah…” Bucky says, slowly catching on. “I’ve been up since forever. There’s been some pretty long nights lately, preparing for the show and all. I’ve barely slept all week, and I’m completely beat.”

“He tosses and turns when he can’t sleep,” Steve fills in. “So he keeps me awake too.”

“Of course,” Wanda says, and when Bucky narrows his eyes at her, she winks at him.

“So we’re just going to head off now,” Steve continues. 

“I’ll have F.R.I.D.A.Y. pull up a car for you,” Tony offers. “And I better not find out you two got freaky in the common room while we were gone.”

“No worries,” Bucky says, walking backwards as Steve’s already tugging at his sleeve to make him follow. “Can’t promise anything about the car, though.”

He doesn’t quite catch what Tony says in response, but going by the look on his face, Bucky decides that it’s most likely a threat.

Steve leads them out through the front doors of the venue and out onto the street where, as promised, one of Tony’s sleek black SUVs is waiting for them at the curb.

“You really couldn’t wait to get me home, huh?” Bucky jokes as he climbs into the backseat while Steve holds the door open for him.

“Patience has never been my strong suit,” Steve confesses as he slides in behind him, and Bucky laughs, humming against the seam of Steve’s lips when Steve leans in to kiss him.

“Then what are we waiting for?” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Captain America Reverse Big Bang](https://capreversebb.tumblr.com/) <3  
> Inspired by art made by [Sayre aka babyboybuckybarnes](http://babyboybuckybarnes.tumblr.com/) <3 <3  
> Beta by the ever so glorious and patient [NurseDarry](https://nursedarry.tumblr.com/) <3 <3 <3

After the ride home – which consists of little else but Steve discreetly trying to feel Bucky up without being caught by the driver in the rearview mirror – they arrive home, and Bucky is both surprised and a bit disappointed that they manage to leave the common room completely untouched on their way up to their own floor. However, he’s very happy that the same can’t be said about the elevator. 

By the time they make it into their hallway, Bucky’s shirt has already been rucked up at the back, and the tip of Steve’s tie is dangling lewdly from the gap between Bucky’s metal fingers as Steve kicks the door shut behind them.

Bucky allows himself to be pressed up against the wall next to the hallway mirror, and in just a matter of seconds, Steve has managed to get both of his hands shoved down the back of Bucky’s pants to run his palms over the black silk of the underwear beneath.

“Wanna see you,” he breathes out against Bucky’s lips as they continue to kiss. “Wanna get a real good look at you.”

Bucky chuckles, and nods. But as he begins to push for Steve to let him up from the wall, Steve growls into their kiss and tightens his grip around Bucky’s ass to keep him still.

“Hey, tough guy,” Bucky says with a laugh as he shoves pointedly against Steve’s shoulder. “You’ll get a better look at me from a little distance, you know.”

“But then I’ll have to let you go,” Steve objects. But as Bucky gives his chest another light push, he reluctantly steps back. Bucky smirks, and then walks ahead towards the bedroom, knowing without having to look that Steve’s following him.

Once inside the bedroom, Bucky proceeds to promptly shove the t-shirt and shorts that are currently occupying a chair in the corner of the room. As Steve turns the lights by the bedside tables on, Bucky drags the chair into the center of the empty space between the door and the bed.

“Have a seat,” he says. He turns away without looking if Steve obeys his order or not, moving towards the closet. When he turns around, box of lingerie in his hands, Steve is indeed sitting down on the chair and looking at him in silence. His eyes are sharp and clear, and they immediately lock onto the little parcel in Bucky’s grip. He doesn’t ask about it, and when Bucky murmurs out a simple, “Wait here,” Steve just nods and watches him disappear into the bathroom at the other end of the room.

Getting cleaned up and ready goes quickly, even though Bucky tries his best to speed the process up as fast as he can. He spends a fair amount of time trying to figure out exactly how garter belts works (again), but he gets the hang of it without much of a fuss. When he’s done with the clothes, he moves on to the makeup. He had left a lot of the foundation and base products behind at the event, but he had also hidden the little towel with his very first purchases in the back of his bathroom cabinet a few days prior. The dark cranberry color on his lips and hint of black eyeliner make a simple, but very striking contrast compared to his makeup-less look, and along with his hair let down and the black lingerie covering his body, Bucky decides that he looks perfect. As a final touch, he slips his feet into his black heels before slowly opening the door to walk back out into the bedroom.

When Steve spots him, Bucky almost begins to laugh. Steve’s eyes go impossibly wide, and both of his hands immediately drop to clutch around the edges of the chair with a faint creak of wood. His mouth falls open, just enough to make him look adorably dumbstruck, and Bucky doesn’t waste time putting on his best high-heeled strut as he slowly saunters around the bed to stand in front of his gaping partner.

“I bought these the other day,” he says, running a metal thumb over the waistband of his silken panties. “What do you think?”

Steve’s gaze drags up and down Bucky’s body in a dazed, hungry swipe; taking in the black underbust corset, the lacy garterbelt, the sheer thigh-high stockings, the heels, before returning to stare at the front of Bucky’s crotch as if he’s just been offered a taste of heaven.

Bucky smirks and slowly moves in to straddle Steve’s lap while slinging his arms around the back of his neck with a low hum. When Steve makes a move to grab around his waist, however, Bucky slaps his hands away with a reprimanding huff.

“Did I say you could touch?” he asks pointedly. Slowly, he smoothes his hands down the span of Steve’s arms to grab around Steve’s wrist and bring them down and around the back of the chair. There, he proceeds to guide Steve’s fingers to curl around the backrest with a low, but very firm, “Stay.”

Watching the way Steve’s pupils dilate in response to the instruction causes Bucky’s blood to run boiling hot, and he has to force himself not to give in to the urge of mashing his lips against the plump curve of Steve’s mouth right away. Instead he leans in to carefully nip at Steve’s left earlobe, grinning when he feels Steve’s body jerk beneath his at the action.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he purrs as he runs his hands back up over Steve’s chest. “I asked you what you think?”

“You honestly expect me to be capable of thinking right now?” Steve counters breathily, making Bucky chuckle.

“Maybe not,” he confesses. “Then again, right now, your brain isn’t really what I’m after.”

“Good.” Steve groans. “Because it’s currently out of order.”

“I can tell,” Bucky muses. He pulls back to look down at his partner, smirking. “Let’s check if the rest of you’s still working, shall we?”

He doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. He simply grabs hold around the back of Steve’s neck, using the grip as leverage as he leans back slightly on Steve’s lap, and begins to move.

Bucky’s hasn’t – as far as he can remember – performed a lapdance before. Luckily for him, the Internet has been a very good source of information on the subject, and Steve is, as always, an excellent audience.

As Bucky rocks his hips to grind himself over Steve’s crotch, Steve obediently keeps his hands where Bucky put them while he stares down at the way Bucky’s ass just barely manages to avoid gracing the fabric of his suit pants with every sinuous roll. It doesn’t take long before Steve’s jaw clenches as his lips pinch shut, breath coming hard through his nose. His eyes look so dark, Bucky can barely see the blue of his eyes, and when Bucky drops down even further, he feels the firm nudge of Steve’s cock rub against the swell of his ass.

The moment he does, Steve lets out a low groan, and Bucky can see the muscles of Steve’s biceps twitch underneath the fabric of his dress shirt. He still doesn’t move, however, even though the way he looks at Bucky when Bucky stands back up makes Bucky feel as if he’s about to get eaten alive. 

Not that it bothers him.

“Take your shirt off,” Bucky instructs calmly, and Steve obediently begins to unbutton his shirt, keeping his gaze firmly locked on Bucky’s eyes as he does so. Once the final button has come undone, Steve slowly, and very deliberately slips his arms out of the sleeves; first the right, then the left, muscles bunching and rippling underneath his skin. As he drops the garment to the floor, Bucky has to order himself not to drool.

“On your knees,” he breathes, and Steve’s chest rises in a silent, grounding intake of breath. Then he slides off his seat and sinks to the floor in a single, fluid motion that leaves Bucky breathless, kneeling in front of Bucky’s heel-clad feet.

Bucky takes a moment to drink in the stunning scenery, before turning around to saunter back to the bed. There, he sits down on the edge of the mattress with his legs graciously crossed at the ankles, and looks at Steve again.

“All fours,” he instructs softly, and as Steve complies by setting both his hands against the floor, Bucky lifts his right hand, and uses a lone finger to beckon Steve closer.

Without breaking eye contact, Steve begins to crawl across the floor towards the bed. His shoulder blades roll in time with the movements of his arms, spine curling and muscles flexing. It’s a sight that could make any human – man, woman, neither, and any variation thereof – go weak in their knees. Bucky is genuinely grateful that he’s already sitting down.

When Steve reaches him, Bucky suppresses a shiver as Steve lowers his head to ghost his lips against the top of Bucky’s foot before dragging his mouth up to his ankle and kissing it through the sheer fabric of the stockings.

Bucky slumps back onto his elbows to watch as Steve slowly lifts his legs up to remove his shoes, one foot at a time. As he slips the second heel off, Steve begins to kiss his way up the muscle of Bucky’s calf, until he’s mouthing at the sensitive spot at the back of Bucky’s knee. The stockings make the touch feel different, almost ticklish, and Bucky grits his teeth to keep himself from giggling when Steve lingers to give that particular spot some extra attention – most likely on purpose.

He doesn’t pause for long, however. Soon, Steve’s moving again, inching higher and higher, until Bucky feels the first brush of lips against the skin of his thighs as Steve reaches the gap between his stockings and underwear. A split second later, Bucky falls back onto the mattress with a gasp as Steve pushes up to mouth at his cock through the silk of his panties. 

Bucky moans, fisting his own hair in his hands and thrusting up against Steve’s mouth with a needy twitch of his hips.

“Buck?” Steve asks, his voice slightly muffled against Bucky's underwear. 

“Yeah?” Bucky replies hoarsely.

“I have a problem.”

Bucky hums out an affirming noise under his breath that cuts off in a ragged gasp when Steve kneads at the insides of his thighs.

“You see,” Steve explains, “ I really, really,  _ really  _ wanna make love to you right now… but I also really, really,  _ really _ don’t want you to take these clothes off.” 

Bucky gasps and twitches as Steve’s teeth begin to nip at the jut of his hip bone, and Steve lets out a loud, frustrated growl against the skin of Bucky’s abs.

“Roll over,” he orders, punching a moan out of Bucky’s gut with the tone of his voice alone. 

Bucky does as he’s told, and as he rolls over to rest on all fours in the middle of the bed, he can’t help but think back at that time he had done the very same thing, wishing for Steve to be there with him. Just like he is now.

There’s a fine tremble reverberating through Bucky’s limbs as he feels the mattress dip when Steve crawls onto the bed behind him. As the warmth of Steve’s palm settles on his shoulder to slowly stroke down the line of his back, down to squeeze at the swell of his right butt cheek, Bucky has to bite down over his lower lip not to moan out loud.

“Do you still like to be told that you’re pretty?” Steve murmurs softly as he continues to rub over his ass, up his back, and then down again. “Because you are, sweetheart. The prettiest fella I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Bucky doesn’t know how to respond to that. To hear Steve call him pretty, in this context, has him speechless. He settles with simply dropping his head down onto the covers with a low groan, but he doesn’t get to stay there for long. He feels Steve’s hands come up and around to rub at his chest, and then Steve simply yanks him up into a kneeling position with Bucky’s back pressed against his chest as they both rest on their knees in the middle of the bed. 

In order to keep himself from losing his balance, Bucky quickly reaches up and wraps his left arm around Steve’s neck. Not that he would have fallen over either way with how Steve is curled around him, with both hands roaming over the front of his body.

As Bucky looks on, Steve lets one of them dip low to rub over the front of Bucky’s panties, while bringing the other up to play with an already-hard nipple that’s peeking out over the underbust corset. Rolling the nub between his fingers, Steve also begins to kiss and suck over the side of Bucky’s neck. The combined rush of sensations has Bucky squirming in Steve’s arms within seconds. 

Every now and then, Steve switches to toy with the nipple on the other side of Bucky’s chest as well, alternating between twisting and rolling it over and over beneath his thumb and index finger. Bucky barely knows what to do with himself. He’s leaking inside his panties already – not enough to leak through, but enough to make it feel sinful and dirty, in all the right ways.

When Bucky feels Steve nudge his face against his cheek, looking for attention, Bucky eagerly turns his head to the side to catch Steve’s lips in a frantic, messy kiss. The angle is a bit awkward, and Bucky has to arch his back in order to reach to the point where he feels as if he’s at risk of pulling something. But how is he supposed to stop?

Steve’s mouth is scorching against Bucky’s own, and as Steve leans down even further to let his tongue trail against the top row of Bucky’s teeth, Bucky lets out a breathless groan, mewling into the kiss.

“You think you could come like this?” Steve pants against his mouth. “With just my hands rubbing you through these new pretties?”

Bucky nods, gasping out an ardent, “Yeah,” as Steve pinches his nipple again.

“Would you like that?” Steve asks as he thrusts lazily against Bucky’s backside, and Bucky whines as he shoves his own hips back in silent approval.

Fuck, he’s already getting close. Steve has gone back to kissing the slope of his neck, and nibbling at the lobe of his ear in a way that sends delicious shivers up Bucky’s spine. Along with the teasing to his chest, it’s quickly becoming far too much as he keeps rutting against Steve’s palm, grinding hard and desperately, just to feel the slip and slide of silk against his skin.

“M’gettin’ close…” he murmurs under his breath. When Steve’s only response is to increase the pressure of his hand, Bucky groans as he tips his head back against Steve’s shoulder to bury his face against Steve’s throat, his entire body shaking.

“Steve…” he breathes. “Close…! I’m cl— Jesus, Steve, I’m gonna—!” 

He gasps, back arching, but as he thrusts his hips forward in search of that final, delirious touch that will send him over the edge, Steve removes his hand completely. Leaving Bucky to hump nothing but air, Steve brings both hands up to toy with Bucky’s nipples instead. It’s like a knife's edge of pleasure and frustration slicing through Bucky’s body. He doesn’t come, but he’s so close he’s twitching and dripping wet in his underwear to the point where a dark stain begins to form at the front of his panties.

He whines, and he shudders, convulsing in Steve’s arms while Steve rocks him gently, shushing him with murmurs of, “I know. I know, it’s okay,” and, “It’s okay, I’ve got you, doll… I’m right here.” Kissing Bucky’s temple, Steve continues to pepper the side of his face and neck with kisses, before pausing to rub the tip of his nose against the shell of Bucky’s ear.

“Whaddaya say, baby?” he asks. “You wanna ride me?”

“Oh, god  _ fuck _ , yes...” Bucky gasps, reaching for the headboard of the bed to steady himself as Steve slides out from behind him to lie down on his back on the mattress. In a matter of seconds, Steve’s successfully managed to rid himself of both his pants and underwear, and by the time Bucky returns from having fetched the lube out of the nightstand, Steve’s cock is curling thick against the planes of his stomach.

God, Bucky loves Steve’s cock. It has always been big, even back when everything else about Steve had been small, his cock had been the complete opposite. From the moment Bucky had first laid eyes on it, he had longed to know what it would feel like to have it inside of him; be it his mouth or elsewhere, it didn’t matter. At this moment, however,  _ ‘elsewhere’  _ is exactly where Bucky wants it.

He pops the lid of the lube with an audible snap, and goes to pour some of the clear liquid onto the thick length of Steve’s erection, when Steve suddenly stops him.

“Wait,” Steve objects with a confused look his way. “Shouldn’t we get you ready first?”

Bucky shakes his head, and pushes Steve’s hand away to continue his work.

“No need,” he says, ignoring the way Steve hisses when the cool of the lube drizzles over his cock. “Already took care of it.”

“What?” Steve asks as he looks up from the view of lubricant slowly dripping down his shaft. “When?”

“Bathroom,” Bucky replies simply as he moves to straddle Steve’s hips while tugging the elastics of his left panty-leg aside. “Better hold still, though,” he adds smugly. “I had to work fast, so it might be a bit tight.”

At that, Steve groans, and his gaze immediately drops to where Bucky is now guiding the head of his cock up past the hemline of Bucky’s panties to press bluntly against his entrance. Bucky hisses as he begins to lower himself down, grunting at the friction of Steve’s cock head as it slowly enters his body. Bucky doesn’t mind the burn, or the threat of momentary pain, because he knows how good it’s going to feel afterwards, in just a moment. Steve could never hurt him, not even like this, and as he feels the jut of Steve’s hips slot up against his ass, he closes his eyes with a soft, contented sigh.

Slowly, he rolls his hips, rocking his body back and forth, trembling as the girth of Steve’s cock fills him up. He’s trembling all over, and he has to physically run his own hands over his body to ease the pleasurable tingle that’s threatening to overtake him. 

As Bucky uses his right hand to fist the long strands of his hair while letting the chill of metal of the left slide over his chest, he hears Steve groan beneath him. As he peels his eyes open to glance down, he finds that Steve’s looking up at him with a face that’s brimming with unabashed want. He’s staring at Bucky as if Bucky is the most arousing thing he’s ever seen, and Bucky’s breath catches in the back of his throat as Steve begins to stroke his hands up and down the thick meat of Bucky’s thighs.

“God, you’re so gorgeous,” Steve murmurs, rubbing his thumbs over Bucky’s hip bones as he grabs around Bucky’s waist, making him rock just a little bit faster. “I could look at you forever…”

Bucky chuckles; a low, throaty sound that stutters when Steve’s proceeds to smooth his palms up Bucky’s chest. Bucky shoves himself down, throwing his head back, feeling the pleasure roll up his spine in blinding waves that leave him shaking.

“Touch me,” he begs, thrusting pointedly. “Please, touch me.”

Without as much as a pause, Steve immediately eases the elastic band of Bucky’s panties down to pull his cock out of the silky garment, but instead of stroking him properly, Steve just drags his fingers over it in a loose circle, the touch so light Bucky just barely registers it. The teasing leaves Bucky twitching hard below his waist, and he whines as Steve does it again, going slower, even as the shallow pumping of his hips begins to pick up pace.

Bucky can't even describe how much he loves it when Steve teases him. It’s so good, so maddening, and Steve is so, so  _ good _ at it.

“Fuck,” he gasps, slumping down to brace himself on the pillow with his hands on each side of Steve’s head, rutting faster to let his cock slide against the chiselled groves of Steve’s abs. By now, Steve has begun to thrust inside him in earnest, but it’s still slow, still dirty as fuck as Steve refuses to go faster than they already are. The angle of his cock feels amazing, as always, and Bucky can feel cold sweat break out all over his body as the pleasure rises like steam inside of him.

Steve’s always known just where it feels the best. Like a goddamn mind-reader.

“Christ, I’ve missed this,” Steve pants. “You don’t even know, Buck. Just seeing you like this— God, you feel so good…”

Bucky nods. He wants to say, “You too”, but finds that he can’t. His head is whirling, his vision has gone blurry, and his voice has been reduced to nothing but a series of inarticulate noises that punch out of his lungs every time Steve drives his cock against his prostate with pinpoint accuracy. Suddenly, he feels sweaty and freezing cold all at the same time, as if he’s running a fever, and Steve is still teasing his cock with his fingers, making him shake and tremble.

“Next time,” Steve starts, eyelids swaying on half-mast, “when you give me a blow job… I want you to wear that red lipstick from the show.” He swallows hard, and Bucky gasps when Steve finally tightens his fingers around the base of his cock to stroke him properly. “I’ll even put it on for you,” Steve swears adamantly. “Just like in the old days. Remember? God, I wanna see your lipstick stain the base of my dick… Wanna see it smear across your lips while you blow me…”

Bucky moans as he shoves his hips back, fingers curling hard against Steve’s chest. That visual… Jesus Christ… 

“Oh, Stevie, baby,” he gasps. “You know I want that. God, I want that so bad.”

“Buck…” Suddenly, Steve is cupping Bucky’s face with both hands. As he tilts it up to look Bucky in the eye, Bucky grasps around the warmth of Steve’s fingers with his left hand, mouth falling open in a moan. 

“Gonna make me come,” he whispers, and Steve nods fervently. 

“Yeah, do it,” he urges. “Just let go. Fuck, I’m right there, baby, I’m right there with you… Oh,  _ god… _ ”

One final thrust, and Steve goes rigid, just as Bucky’s vision whites out as he shoots his load over Steve’s naked chest, gasping and convulsing while Steve grinds against him in slow, lazy circles to milk the last of his orgasm from his body. 

The rest is nothing but a pleasurable haze. Bucky remembers eventually being able to roll off of Steve to stand up on post-climactic legs next to the bed, before Steve joins him to help him into the bathroom. Even though Bucky grumbles that he can do it by himself, Steve insists on helping him undress, and Bucky finds as he stands there to look down at Steve unhooking his garter straps from his stockings, that this is a kind of service he could learn to like.

They shower together, quickly and efficiently, before crawling back into bed once more – underneath the covers, this time. Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s midsection to snuggle up against his back in a broad, solid press of skin on skin, and before Bucky is even aware of it happening, he’s fallen asleep. Smiling.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

As Bucky wakes up the morning after, he finds that they forgot to pull the blinds all the way down in the windows before falling asleep. The sun is shining in through the gap at the bottom, illuminating the room in that annoyingly cheerful glow that only an involuntarily awake person can hate.

It’s not the sun that wakes him, though.

There’s a slow, rolling motion pressing up against his lower back from behind, and as Bucky turns his head to glance over his shoulder, he’s met with a smug, albeit still sleep-drunk look out of Steve’s blue eyes.

“Morning, beautiful,” Steve greets, before closing his eyes with a hum as he thrusts against Bucky’s back more decisively.

“Morning,” Bucky replies with an arch of his eyebrow. “You an early riser today?”

“Mmmh,” Steve hums, hips rolling. “Things are looking up.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh as he worms himself out of Steve’s embrace to lie flat on his back.

“You know, with hip movements like that, you should come with me to the studio next time,” he says smugly as Steve grumbles at his sudden shift of position. “Damn, I’d love to see you try to walk in heels. Even more, dance in them.”

“I’d rather watch you dance,” Steve objects. Teasingly, he flutters his fingers down the side of Bucky’s ribs, and Bucky shudders, smiling up at the ceiling. Then, Steve suddenly rolls on top of him, mischievous grin firmly in place.

“C’mon,” he says, nudging at Bucky’s jawline with his nose. “Go strap your heels on and give me a little show, will ya?”

“Yeah, you’d like that, huh?” Bucky counters with a snort as he shoves for Steve to get off of him, but instead of rolling off, Steve simply slides lower, kissing his way down Bucky clavicle and chest as he goes. 

_ “Hit it up, get it up,”  _ he sing-songs under his breath, smirking as he lets his teeth graze against Bucky’s abs.  _ “Won’t let you rest… Hit it up, get it up, gotta give me your best… ” _

Bucky groans, back arching up as Steve reaches the top of his pelvis, mouthing lyrics against Bucky’s skin with a purr,  _ “So get your ass up, show me how you burlesque.” _

Bucky laughs, stifling a giggle that slowly morphs into another groan as Steve’s lips close around the rapidly thickening length of his cock. 

“Right,” Bucky breathes cryptically, squirming a little beneath Steve’s mouth. “Maybe later…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to share your thoughts on the fics in the comments :)  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chiyume87), should you want to talk there instead.  
> I respond to all messages as soon as I get the time, and I love talking to people, so please don't hesitate to write me <3


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